The Longest Summer
by pinta15
Summary: 1997 Great Britain: Welcome the 52nd year of Grindelwald's "Ideal Society". When there's nothing else to lose, will Hermione surrender herself to Tom's criminal underworld? AU. No Magic. TR/HG.
1. The Junk Dealer

**Longer Summary: **1997 Great Britain; The 52nd year of Gellert Grindelwald's "Ideal Society". Welcome to a world where the elite "pureblodds" rule and poor "mudbloods" are brushed over to the side. Hermione luckily finds employment at Borgin & Burkes to make ends meet in the crumbling economy. There she meets the mysterious Tom Riddle, who introduces her into the underworld that was everything she was against. As the gap between rich and poor grows larger, she must decide what road to take to change the nation for the better.

**Author's Note:** What inspired me to write this story was a combination of Dystopian society films and anything written and directed by Quentin Tarantino. Every time I see_ Pulp Fiction_ or _Kill Bill_, I feel so amped up to write because of all of the punchy dialogue, and now I present you with Chapter 1 of **The Longest Summer.**

Sorry, no magic, but with plenty of landmarks along the way. Give it a chance fellow readers and tell me what you think. I look forward to any and all reviews. This fic is also dedicated to my favorite pairing, but it will take a while to get there.**  
**

**Disclaimers:** I don't own Harry Potter or any of its characters. Just borrowing.

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Chapter 1: The Junk Dealer

_**Summer 1997**_

Hermione remembered the first time she had met Tom Riddle. It was her first day at Borgin & Burkes Pawn Shop, the only place that would hire her in the awful job market. She thought it was odd that someone as cute as him would ever work in such a seedy place like that. He was tall, skin was a delicate white, aristocratic features, but he had a bit of a tough guy appearance with the sides of his hair shaved nearly clean, the top part gelled and parted to the left. Tattoos adorned his toned arms. That morning, he was taking inventory of all the crap that rested on the strained shelves. Some junk even looked like they were manufactured in the '70's. She couldn't help but wonder if any of it still worked and how they didn't collapse on top of each other.

In a ruddy old shop located in one of the worst neighborhoods in London, she wasn't sure what to expect. She did, though, feel a little bit more comforted when she first saw Tom. It was refreshing to see somebody so beautiful in that filthy shop. That was until she first heard him speak.

"Go to the back and get one of the rags, and then start polishing the merchandise." He commanded even before she had a chance to introduce herself. She was so shocked at his rudeness that she remained still. "Move it. The place isn't going to clean itself."

Hermione, however, had too much pride to allow anybody to speak to her in that manner. He was easily at least a foot taller than her, yet she stood her ground as if she were nine feet tall.

"Who do you think you are speaking to me in that way? You've only known me for half a second." Her face began to glow red, filling with fury. "And when was the last time somebody cleaned this place? It looks like a place where cockroaches and spiders come for holiday."

"Hence, why you've been hired. But if it disgusts you so much, then quit. There are hundreds of unemployed bums that will take your position in a minute." Tom hadn't even turned to acknowledge her. His eyes remained focused on the old radios in front of him. Hermione was ready to grab one of them and smash it over his over-inflated head. She didn't need a job that bad to take such abuse. Before she had a chance to make that point clear, a hunched greasy man walked over to the scene.

"Your first day and you're already causing trouble, Granger?" He said in his raspy voice.

"But he-" Hermione began to argue, but the old man raised his thin, wrinkly hand.

"No need to explain to me. Just do as you're told. Time is money, so get to work." The greasy man turned away.

"You heard Mr. Burke, girl."

Hermione huffed as she stormed away. What a pair of chauvinist pigs! She was sure had she been a man, they would've treated her with a little more dignity. Instead, they made her feel like an overly-burdened housewife dealing with two unappreciative bastards.

What a hole that shop was! And they expected her to clean it all? Surely, it would take her almost a week of non-stop cleaning for the place to look good again. The whole area was unbelievably cluttered. Reaching in between all the junk was going to be a challenge on its own. Not to mention all the ground in dirt in the floor and walls. Seriously, how long had it been since someone cleaned it?

Indeed, it took a full work week of non-stop dusting, scrubbing, sweeping, and mopping for the place to look decent. Maybe not clean enough to eat of the floors, but at least to the point were a person could feel comfortable leaning back against the wall. Yet all that hard work came with a price. Under her fingernails was grime and her hair felt as disgusting as Mr. Burke looked. After her second day, she started pulling her bushy brown locks into a bun to keep it out of her face as she cleaned, but it still wasn't completely safe from the dirt. She wished the place would've just clean itself with just the snap of her fingers. She could snap them, but nothing would happen. Magic wasn't real. If something needed to get done, she would have to strain herself to get it done.

The last day of her first week had finally come and Mr. Burke had called her over to the front. It was really the only time he had bothered to acknowledge her. He didn't even pay her any mind when a scream from her filled the shop the second a giant cockroach crawled onto her arm while she was dusting the lamps. The place truly was an insects' paradise.

"It's the end of the week, Ms. Granger. I assume you're expecting your pay, correct?"

Hermione wasn't entirely sure how to answer that question. It was a rather unusual question, especially coming from Mr. Burke, a man not famous for his generosity. She cautiously nodded her head. Hopefully, his famous greed wouldn't rip her off after all the hard work she had done.

"I'll admit; this place looks better than when it first opened forty-some years ago." He smiled, revealing his crooked yellow teeth. "That, I greatly appreciate."

Mr. Burke reached into his faded black blazer and pulled out two, 50 pound notes and a 20, then placed them down in front of her.

"I'll go ahead and tell you this now. I pay based on the quality of your work, not the number of hours you spend here. Maybe next week you'll get paid more, maybe less." He said.

"And what will I be doing next week since the cleaning is done?" Hermione asked as she took her money. It was rather meager pay for forty hours of back-breaking work, but at least it was tax-free and it was enough to keep her from going hungry.

"Ask Tom. See what he needs help with. He's in the back fixing a few old things we plan to put in stock later."

Her heart sank. Ever since her first meeting with him, she had done her best to avoid him. She crept quietly into the back and slowly opened the door where she heard rock music playing in the background. Sex Pistols, perhaps?

"Hello?" She asked warily, half her body still hiding behind the heavy door.

"What do you want, Granger?" Tom didn't even look up from his work area where she saw a bunch of wires and a whole bunch of electronic components. She saw even more of his tattoos now that he was wearing only a wife-beater. One in particular caught her eye; a skull with a snake tongue, all black, rested under his left forearm.

"Mr. Burke sent me back here, in case you need any help." She answered.

"Do you know _anything_ at all about electronics?" He snidely said, knowing the correct answer to his question.

"Well no, but…" She didn't want him to send her away.

"But what?" He asked, still not looking up at her.

_I pay based on the quality of your work, not the number of hours you spend here._

"I can help you in any other way. There has to be something I can do."

Tom looked up at her for a quick minute. His cold, steely grey eyes met with her hazel ones. It was like he was evaluating her to estimate her worth.

"Pull up that chair, and take a seat by me. Just watch me work. Perhaps you can learn a thing or two to make yourself more useful in the future."

He still was quite rude, but she did as she was told. This could be a good learning experience after all. She had always wondered how certain things worked and she was sure it would be useful to learn how to fix things. Money was a scarce thing in southern London, and it would be more economical than buying new stuff over and over again.

She hated having to pinch every penny. It's what made her excited, as well as fear for her final year of secondary school. Next year, she would be taking the National Evaluative Workers' Tests, or NEWTs. Her scores would determine her future. They did for every citizen in Great Britain since 1946. Scored high, and you could go on to University, then qualify for whatever job you wanted. On the down side, if you scored low, you were barred from going on to university and would just have to work in whatever mediocre job you could find. The most common position "failures" had was factory worker. As time went on, even those positions were hard to get. Too many "failures" nowadays.

Hermione always believed that these exams were designed to keep the elite families in power and the poor "mudbloods" in the slums. She knew it was no coincidence that rich continued on running the country since they could afford to send their children to the best private schools where they were groomed for success. Even if their children did poorly on their NEWTs, their parents could give the Admission's Board some money under the table and their futures remained bright.

State-runned public schools, on the other hand, did no such thing for children who had nothing. They were actually more like preparatory schools for criminals. When Hermione was 15, a boy in her class was beaten half to death just because he refused to hand over his shoes to this bully. Two weeks later, this same bully was stabbed by an even bigger bully just for looking at him the wrong way. Nobody really learned at these schools. How could they when classes had almost forty students each, most of whom spent the entire period talking? Most teachers had just lost all hope of getting through to their students. That was except for Remus Lupin.

Mr. Lupin came from a rich family and went to Hogwarts University, but he was one of the rare few that actually tried to help the less fortunate. He taught Advance Math, so his class was one of the smaller ones; still about thirty students. But what made him unique was that he would approach students that were serious about school and invite them to a secret class every night to prepare them for the NEWTs in every subject, a highly dangerous act. If the State Police ever found out, he'd surely be killed. His family had already disowned him for teaching at a public school, but he didn't seem to mind. Students that he believed had the most potential, he would lend out his books for them to study even more. Some university level. Hermione already had spent a year under his tutelage and read a dozen of his books. She wanted to make sure she'd pass the NEWTs. Once she had the proper education, she could enter the government and begin to make changes. Should she do badly one the exams and wound up stuck at Borgin & Burkes, she would certainly kill herself.

Her hazel eyes looked over at Riddle. His face showed no emotion as he was soldering thin pieces of metal onto a circuit board. She wasn't sure how much time had gone by, but her bottom started to feel sore against the sturdy wooden chair. She wondered how he may've done on his NEWTs, if he had taken them at all. There were quite a few people who didn't bother. Hardly anyone south of Diagon Alley ever passed. But she would pass. If anyone could make it out of poverty, it would be her; Hermione Jean Granger.

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**A/N:** This first chapter was mostly introductory, so I kept it short. It sort of introduces you on how unfair society has become since Grindelwald gained power after the Second World War ended. Future chapters should be much longer.

I've been wanting to write a dystopian society story for a while, and I've finally came up with plot. It'll go even deeper than just Hermione studying for her NEWTs. Trust me.

As for who the "elite" are, that would be all the pureblood families mentioned in the Harry Potter universe. So yes, that would include the Weasley's.

For you American folk, Hermione's pay (120 pounds), is roughly about 180 dollars.

Good? Bad? Ugly? Please let me know what you think.

Muchas Gracias ^_^

-Pinta15


	2. The Barman

**Author's Notes:** Sorry things are still a bit slow so far, but there will be action in this story in upcoming chapters. So keep a look out.

**Much love to this story's first set of reviewers:** Lumos Duo, lalyta8, le-femme-cavalier, ClaireReno, MidnightEclipse93, HereToRead84, and Asarin159

And thanks to anybody who bothers reading my story.

Happy Reading! ^_^

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Chapter 2: The Barman

**Sunday, June 29th; 10 o' clock a.m.**

_"Need money fast? Do you know you live in a goldmine? Come by Lestrange's Quick Loans and see how much your house is worth today!"_

Hermione cracked open an eye. First sight; millionaire Rodolphus Lestrange on TV. The man made a fortune screwing people out of their homes. Sure he'll give you all the money your house is good for, but he always failed to mention the sky-high interest rate that came with the loan. Few people could ever pay it back. Men like that made her nauseous. She already felt like slugs were swimming around in her stomach and was about to fall back asleep until she remembered that her room had no TV. And this bed, this wasn't her bed. It was hard and cramped; was it even a bed at all?

"Awake Granger?" A deep voice startled her. Hermione sat up swiftly on the couch which worsened her growing headache.

She was fully clothed, in a baggy T-shirt and sweat pants. Clothes that unmistakably weren't hers. Her bloodshot eyes scanned the room and found Tom in a simple pair of green gym shorts. No shirt. Even more tattoos were revealed. Many of them on his torso. His jet black hair had no gel and lay carelessly over his head. He stepped out of the kitchenette with a coffee mug.

"Drink this," he handed her the mug, "and take these." He then handed her a couple of medium-sized pills. "Should take care of your hangover."

She felt so much like crap that she didn't bother arguing or showing objection in any other way. The coffee was quite bitter. No cream or sugar was detected in it as the hot liquid brushed over her tongue. It did feel like it was clearing her head, but it made the slugs in her gut swim a little faster.

"I'm quite amazed, Granger. Twelve shots of firewhiskey. That's some pretty strong stuff. More than half of it is alcohol." Tom took a seat right next to her on the couch. He smelt vaguely of soap and his hair did appear a tad damp, but his eyes slightly red. "Do you even remember what happened last night?"

Whatever color remained on her face had left upon hearing that. For Tom to ask that question meant that she may've made a complete fool of herself. Never before in her life had she tasted alcohol and now that she felt utterly disgusted with herself (both with her body and for her recent decisions) she remembered why she had always avoided it.

"We didn't…" She faced Tom with obvious terror in her eyes. It was quite unsettling to find herself in someone else's home, especially the home of a man she barely knew.

"Have sex? No." He chuckled a bit with this slight look in his eye that said, _"As if I would ever sleep with you."_

"Then what am I doing here?" Hermione asked, a bit relieved, but still nervous to hear the story of drunken escapade.

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**Saturday, June 28; 9 o'clock p.m.**

"How do you like Borgin & Burkes so far, Granger?"

Tom had asked as soon as he and Hermione had taken a seat at the bar at The Hog's Head. The place was filthy. It rivaled Borgin & Burkes before she had taken care of it. And the place was filled with men, huge men covered in tattoos. The barman himself was a piece of work. He stood at least 6'6", but was fairly thin. His thick grey beard reached down to his chest, and his light blue eyes looked cold, but not as bad as her companion's. This pub had a reputation of being the roughest in London; the hotspot for hoodlums. Why Hermione had accepted Tom's invitation for drinks, she couldn't remember as she inhaled the faint smell of farm animals that the place seemed to have.

Well, thinking back on it, it wasn't much of an invitation at all.

"_Do you want to go out for drinks with me? I'm sure after you spent the entire week cleaning a hellhole like this, you need a stiff drink." Tom had said indifferently as he turned off his soldering iron, indicating he was going to call it quits for the day._

"_You don't speak to me all week, and all of a sudden you're asking me out? What's your deal, Riddle?" Hermione narrowed her eyes at him._

"_It's not a date," he huffed irritably, "I just don't want to be another creepy loner at the bar on a Saturday night. So are you in or out?"_

In other words, she was the last resort, an emergency drinking buddy for the night.

"_I'm going to be dealing with this man for the rest of the summer. I should try to become friends with him."_ She reminded herself to try to feel more at ease, but it was made more difficult with each pair of fierce eyes that were made at her from the fearsome thugs. As she took another glance at the pub, she noticed she was the only female. Well…the only approachable female.

"Is this place too much for you? Would you have preferred Madam Puddifoot's or The Three Broomsticks?" Tom noticed her discomfort and donned a smirk on his pretty face.

"_Is he trying to intimidate me? What an insufferable ass! So much for trying to relax tensions between co-workers."_ She thought to herself.

"I just think it's so stereotypical that you would've picked a place like this." Her voice was firm, confident as if she truly wasn't nervous in there. He raised an eyebrow at this.

"You think you know me that well already? I actually like this place because of the cheap drinks. Ab, two shots of firewhiskey." He hollered at the tall barman behind the counter.

"Based on your previous comment, you felt the same way." She argued. "Why else would you have suggested Madam Puddifoot's or The Three Broomsticks? For all you know, I probably go out every night and drink on a regular basis."

Ab came back and placed the two shots of firewhiskey between them.

"If you do in fact drink on a regular basis, I'm sure this should slide down your throat like water." Tom picked up his shot glass. "Cheers."

He threw it back with no problem at all and then he slammed his empty glass down on the wood of the bar.

Hermione picked her own shot up and studied the fiery red liquid.

_"One shot shouldn't hurt."_ She threw it back in one swift motion, like a Band-Aid. That unique burning sensation that attacked her throat nearly caused her to spit back out but she held it in with all her might. She'd show Tom that she was no weak little girl. She'd show him that she deserved his respect.

Then she brought her head back up. It felt like she was doing it in slow motion.

"Ab, another two shots." Tom hollered again before she had a chance to put her empty shot glass back down.

"_What? Is he serious?"_ Hermione screamed in her head. Another shot? She wasn't even old enough to drink yet. Not that the law was strictly enforced in her neck of the woods, but she never approved of underage drinking. She didn't approve of drinking in general. She never understood why people liked to deliberately hinder their minds and risk their health.

Ab brought the next round of shots.

"Ready, Granger?" Tom picked up his glass.

This bastard was testing her, she was sure of it. The smart thing would have been to leave that second, but she knew he would continue to have that look of disgust in his stone-cold eyes every time she went to work. A part of her couldn't care less. But the other part wanted him to acknowledge her as a force to be reckoned with. In spite of his punk-style, she could sense there was something more to him, and she wanted him to show her.

Hermione took that second shot and threw it back before he had a chance to take his. Again, things slowed down again and the colors in the pub seemed to dim. They weren't very intense to begin with, pretty dark in fact, but now she almost felt like she was in a cave. Though, it wasn't so dark that she missed the smile on Tom's face. Was this impressment that she saw? Without expressing it out lout, he threw back his second glass.

"Ab, another round!"

Now the two of them held the interest of the entire Hog's Head. Drinking games may've happened often there, but never before had a contestant been a girl like her.

"Tom, you're going to kill the girl." Ab laughed, but he still filled up the two little glasses for round three.

"You're alright, right Granger?" Tom's voice sounded smoother than usual. She didn't know how hard she nodded, but shot number three came her way.

Then number four…number five…number six…

"Where'd you find this one, Riddle?" A hairy, roughneck thug in his late thirties to early forties asked.

"Riddle? That's such a weird last name, b-but it fits him well, d-doesn't it? He's such a my-stur-eeeeee." Hermione rambled towards the thug. "What's your name? Is it funny too?"

"The name is Fenrir Greyback. That's a good solid name." He stuck out his barrel chest with exaggerated pride.

"Greyback? Is that because you have grey hairs growing on your back, too?" She patted the thick, lack-luster black hair on his arms.

Several of the thugs around laughed at her attempt at humor, even Tom.

"Abbey, bring me another shot." She slurred to the barman. "There's a kiss in it for ya if you bring it fast."

"I think you had enough for the night." Ab said, almost fatherly.

"Ab, I will give you my gold watch if you keep on bringing this lady more drinks." A tall thug in a leather vest held up a Rolex.

"Gibbon, I know that's not your watch. Who did you steal that from?" Ab scolded from behind the bar.

"Oh come on, Ab. You know you wanna see how many more shots this girl can take."

"Come on, Abbey. You don't want to disappoint my fans." Hermione tried to make the saddest eyes she knew how to make.

She got another shot. Six more shots actually. Her body started acting independently of her brain after shot seven that she failed to notice that Tom had called it quits after shot eight. The next thing she remembered was waking up on his couch.

He managed to sum up that long night in a matter of minutes.

"You were heavier than I expected. It was tricky carrying you up two flights of stairs. I almost left you on the curve. Then, the first thing you did after I opened my door was throw-up." Tom rapped it up.

"Did you change my clothes for me?" She asked, and then color suddenly returned to her cheeks. "Did you see me naked?"

"You still have on the underwear you had on last night, so not completely. Would you have preferred waking up in the brown mess that is your old clothes?" He asked sarcastically.

There was something different about him this time though. He may've been a little hung-over as well, but she noticed his face seemed softer. Did the biggest mistake of her life pay-off just a little bit?

"Want to make that a weekly thing?" He asked with a smile. It was quite beautiful, even if he did look a little flushed.

"Are you bloody mad?" She snapped. At that point, she began to think quitting her job would be preferable. Screw gaining Tom's respect.

"I'm only kidding. Do you want to go get some breakfast or do you have somewhere you need to be?"

Home, probably. Her dad was probably going to kill her for not going home last night and for not calling. Did she really want to rush that?

"Sure, but where?"

Tom took her to a small diner a couple of blocks away from his apartment. They walked side-by-side the whole way there, but in silence. Both of them sported sunglasses to keep the bright sun from screwing with their headaches further. Hermione still wore Tom's clothes that were strangely comfortable. He simply put on a black T-shirt and slipped on some heavy looking black boots. The green shorts stayed. When they got to the diner, they chose a table towards the back. It was relatively dark and they took off their glasses.

"God, I'm so glad Burke's is closed on Sundays." Tom said as he rubbed his temples.

"Really? I've always thought you loved that place." Hermione said as she scanned the menu. Everything sounded good, but she felt most of it would probably make her hurl again.

"I can't fuckin' stand that place. Mr. Burke in particular. Works on my nerves."

"What's so wrong with Mr. Burke?"

"Are you seriously asking that question?" Tom scoffed. "After you spent the last week cleaning his shop that pretty much looked that way since I've started working there, you have the nerve to ask what's wrong with him?"

"If I was that quick to let first impressions affect the way I treat a person, I wouldn't be sitting across you right now." She closed her menu. The first time where somebody else had offered to pay for her meal and she didn't want to eat. When the waitress came by, she simply ordered a glass of unsweetened ice tea. Tom ordered the same and a plate of ham and eggs.

"What was your first impression of me by the way?" He asked.

"That you were a prick with a ten foot poker up his ass." Hermione said it so naturally like exhaling. "It's not like you had a positive impression of me either. Otherwise, I'm sure you would've treated me better at work."

"Hah." Tom laughed.

The waitress brought him over his ham and eggs and promptly left. He poked at the eggs for a while with his fork, letting the yolk bleed all over his plate before he scooped some up onto it.

"Are you sure you don't want some food? I told you I'll pay. If you continue to ignore my favors, I may not be so nice later on. Then I don't want you telling me how much of an ass I am." He chewed.

"I decline one meal and all of a sudden you threaten never to be nice again?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Consider yourself lucky. To most people, I'm never nice." He winked which caused her to smile.

"Well then, what went so wrong in your life that you ended up at working at Borgin & Burkes?"

Tom ate a couple more bites before he answered. For a minute, she thought she had pulled at the wrong thread and pissed him off.

"It's a long story. Short version: I started working there after I found out Mr. Burke had some merchandise that caught my interest."

"Such as?"

"I'll tell you the next time you take twelve shots." He continued to eat.

Hermione frowned. Just when she thought they were bonding, he closes up again and maintains that mask of indifference.

"Whatever. I just hope I do well on my NEWTs next year. If I end up stuck there, I'm going to put one leg into a bucket full of cement, let it dry, then toss myself into the River Thames."

"I'm sure news like that is exactly what those fuckin' bastards at the Ministry want to hear. _'Mudblood' girl drowns herself after failing NEWTs_."

"I've never understood that term. Why do we have to have 'dirty' blood if we don't have some fancy last name? As far as I'm concerned, everybody bleeds the same."

"Yeah, well as far as I'm concerned, no 'mudblood' has ever passed the NEWTs."

Tom was beginning to annoy her. Was he trying to tell her not to get her hopes up?

"I take it you didn't do well on them as well." She looked at him smartly, hoping he felt like a moron for once.

"Not that it's any of your business, but I chose not to take them." He seemed to get irritated as well.

"Why not? Don't you realize that it's worse not to try at all than to fail? You're practically letting the Ministry step over you rather than trying to beat then at their own game." Her voice gradually got louder. The few people in the diner started to glance over at their table.

"I didn't take the exams because I didn't want to become a servant to Grindelwald's fascist regime. It's disgraceful that England suffered so greatly from World War II that they let a former Nazi gain control." Tom's voice was controlled, but held an acidic undertone. "And for your information, I'm more than capable of passing that test, but I have more important things to do than sit in a stuffy room for half a day to take it."

"So what do you do with your precious time? Get drunk? Get more tattoos? Work at a dead end job?" Hermione's voice could be heard clearly into the kitchens. She was so sure that Tom was going to explode at that bold statement, but she wanted so bad to hurt him.

Tom simply snickered as he cut another piece of his ham. A stark contrast to her apparent anger. Had she been somebody else, anybody else, spoken to him like that, he would've slammed their face right into the wooden table in front of him. But he didn't want to do that to her. Seeing her like this was a bit of a turn on for him.

"You're pathetic." Her voice had lowered, but it was filled with malice. It frustrated her that Tom still considered himself much better than her. Why else would he laugh at her when she was trying to make a point? She didn't understand him at all. He didn't seem to give a damn about life and was perfectly fine with living in the slums. She couldn't stand to look at him anymore. She needed to leave before she snatched that fork out of his hand and stab him in the neck with it. Without saying anything more, she began to walk away.

"See you at work tomorrow, Granger." Tom yelled at before she slammed the glass door behind her.

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**Extra notes:**

**To MidnightEclipse93:** I did have trouble coming up with an ideal wage for Hermione on her first week of work, which she worked about 40 hours. I sort of based it on what cleaning ladies in my town charge for a day, which is usually about 30 US dollars. This may've been rather generous for a man like Mr. Burke, but it's a side of him that won't be seen too often throughout the rest of the story. He still has plenty more scenes to go. Plus, Hermione was paid in cash, so no money was withheld by the government, which is also why it may've sounded like a lot.

Questions? Comments? Concerns? Desire to see this story updated again in a timely fashion?

Please review folks! Gracias!

Pinta15


	3. The Mechanic

**Author's Notes:** I'm trying to update quickly before I forget many of the details about this little universe I created. Plus, I got a test next week in physics, so it may take me a while to post chapter 4. :'(

Anyways, Happy Reading! : D

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Chapter 3: The Mechanic

Sunlight peaked through Hermione's blinds around 6:30 in the morning the next day. She was fully awake by then, but remained motionless on her twin-sized bed. There had been several mornings where she felt like this, where she didn't want to leave her bed, but this morning was particularly bad. Even after she had taken a nice long shower after her father erupted into a mushroom cloud when she came home, she still didn't feel clean of her crazy night with Tom. She had always kept herself in check and she didn't understand how she could've let herself go just to get on his good side. The man was vile. This she should've already guessed based on his punk appearance and his bad attitude. No, Tom didn't deserve her friendship or even her respect. He had some nerve allowing her to make a complete fool of herself in front of dozens of strange men. A real gentleman would've never pressured her to drink beyond her limit. And then he had the nerve to tell her not to expect passing her NEWTs? What was his deal? Did he just know which buttons of hers to push that would instantly piss her off?

In about forty-five minutes, she would have to rise up from her bed, get ready, and then head off to work. She really didn't want to see him again, but she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of believing he had caused her to quit. Not for a million years!

_I pay based on the quality of your work, not the number of hours you spend here._

Well if that's the case, what's the point of showing up at 8 sharp? Hermione memorized Mr. Burke's famous words well and casually strolled into the shop around 10 'o clock. That greasy old man was reading _The Daily Prophet_ behind the counter and his "golden boy" Tom was moving some of the larger items around. It was kind of nice seeing him put his firm muscles to work, especially when he wore a tight white T-shirt that complimented his pale skin so well.

_"He's a bastard, remember?"_ Hermione reminded herself and tore her eyes off him.

"Granger! Who the bloody hell do you think you are coming to work this late?" Mr. Burke yelled, but before she had a chance to argue her case, he yelled at her again. "Never mind. I need you to go with Tom over to Avery's Auto Lot. There's an old car of his that won't start up anymore and I want it for its parts. I need the both of you to bring it down here."

Great. Just when she was hoping to start off the week by giving Tom the cold shoulder, she has to do a job with him.

"Come on, Granger, we don't have all day." Tom was headed out the door as soon as he placed a 20" TV on a shelf. She sighed as she followed him to a sun-bleached, red truck.

He hopped into the truck first while she waited for him to unlock the passenger door, which he took his sweet time to do. As soon as she opened it, the suffocating heat within attacked her.

"Do you mind if I turn on the air-conditioner?" Hermione asked a little irritably to let him know that she wasn't happy about seeing him again.

"Don't bother. Piece of rubbish broke back in April. I still haven't gotten the chance to get some Freon for it. Just roll down your window." He seemed indifferent to it as he reached over to the glove compartment and took out a pack of cigarettes. "Want one?"

"No, and I'd really appreciate if you didn't smoke in here either."

"Sorry to disappoint you sweetheart, but I'm having a smoke." He took a cigarette and then lit it. She sighed loudly as she rolled down her window.

Tom started the truck, which had a surprising amount of power in spite of how old it looked. The drive to Avery's was much longer than she would've cared for. Twenty minutes of sun, smoke, and loud rock music was nothing but hell. As soon as Tom put the truck in park, she jumped out. Tom flicked the butt of his third cigarette out into the concrete as soon as he stepped out.

"This way, Granger." Tom didn't wait for her to catch up.

They walked for what seemed like forever across the expansive lot, where dozens of cars were laid out, to the main building which was only two stories high. Hermione had felt like she had been there before, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Tom led her to a medium-sized office on the second floor where the Lot's owner, Langston Avery was. Avery was an average height balding man whose gut flopped over his belt and Hermione had a clear view of it as he stood up to shake Tom's hand. His sleeve's were rolled up which revealed the thick brown hair growing on them.

"Nice to see you again, Tom. But who's the pretty lady you brought with you?" Avery said, looking over to Hermione with a tinge of lust in his eyes.

"Her name is Hermione Granger. Burke hired her last week as an extra errand person. So where's this lemon we're supposed to pick up?" Tom was quick to get down to business.

"My check first." Avery responded.

Tom reached into his back pocket and took out his beat-up wallet. He pulled out a check that was inside of it and handed it over to Avery.

"Thank you. Go down to the garage and go see Black. He knows which car you're supposed to take." Avery sat back down behind his desk as if he was anxious to get them out of his office, not that Hermione wanted to linger, and from the looks of it, neither did Tom as he was the first on out.

At the garage, Hermione realized why the place felt familiar. She remembered the place as a small little mod shop as soon as a tall, yet limber man with long black hair in coveralls walked up to them.

"Sirius?" Hermione said, not entirely sure.

"Hey, Hermione! How've you been?" He smiled. She ignored the oil stains that covered him and gave him a hug.

She hadn't visited Sirius at work in years that she had completely forgotten about the sad story that surrounded him and his godson and her best friend, Harry. They were both the happiest people she knew that it was so easy to. Sirius was born into the prestigious Black family, but he never saw eye-to-eye with their elitist views. He had always thought it was ridiculous that genes decided a person's place in society. He also never saw himself in a boring office job that most purebloods tended to have.

Instead, he had always wanted to do something with his hands and cars had always fascinated him. When he had told his mother that he wanted to be a mechanic, she scolded him for wanting a mudblood job. The next day, she threw him out the house and told him to go live amongst them. His uncle Alphard told him not to give up in his dreams and gave him a fair amount of cash in secret to start his own business. James Potter, another pureblood and best friend, joined on in the business. They called the garage Marauder's Auto Shop, which did very well from the time that it opened in 1978 and throughout the 80's. It was during that time that James had meet Lily, a poor girl from around the way, and made her his wife. Not even a year after they had gotten married, they had started their family with Harry. Yup, things were going pretty well as people quite enjoyed having their cars customized.

Then hit 1991. The infamous year when the economy began to head downhill. Grindelwald had always trusted the "elite" as being the backbone of the nation, and for many decades, they did their job of maintaining the economy's stability. "Mudbloods" may've had modest incomes, but up until '91, their lives were still pretty comfortable. But a miscalculation on the purebloods part lead to overproduction of British goods and the demand for them sunk to an all time low. Who is it that paid for the mistake? It certainly wasn't them. Many of those prestigious families still remained so in their over-sized mansions and continued to drive their imported Italian vehicles. How _they_ solved the problem was by eliminating many jobs and severely cut wages, ruining the lives of the working class.

Nobody could afford to spend any extra money customizing their cars anymore and James and Sirius's families had never bothered to give them a dime. When Avery offered to buy the property Marauder's rested on, they couldn't afford to say no. At least James couldn't. He had a family to support. Avery did keep them from declaring bankruptcy, but a year later, James and Lily were killed in a botched robbery of their home. Why they spared the life of their son was still remained a mystery. Since then, Harry had been under Sirius's care and the two had gotten along great. The deaths of Lily and James still hurt them, but they were always grateful that they had each other.

"What are you two doing together?" Sirius looked surprised as he realized that Hermione had come with Tom. Obviously, they were well acquainted.

"She's here to help me move the car that Mr. Burke just purchased." Tom looked like he didn't have time for pleasantries and was itching to leave.

"You work for Mr. Burke? You should've asked me to help you get a job. Avery isn't that much of a prick. I'm sure I could've convinced him to create a position for you." Sirius showed concern for her.

"Thanks, but I'm fine at Borgin & Burkes." She lied. She could've thrown herself in front of a train for not thinking about Sirius when she was filling out job applications. Although Avery creeped her out, Mr. Burke was no day at the beach either.

"Right. It's almost 11, and I have other things I need to do today." Tom cut in again. Hermione already knew he was an ass, but seeing him in action still irked her immensely.

Sirius looked at him coldly before turning around and walking him over to the car. Whatever the relationship between them was, it visibly wasn't a healthy one. Whenever they looked at each other, it was always with dead eyes.

The car that Mr. Burke had purchased appeared to be in immaculate condition. It was shiny blue '74 Jaguar. What could possibly be wrong with it? It certainly looked newer than the truck Tom drove up there.

"Other than the transmission, the car is tip-top, but Avery doesn't want to pay for the parts I need to fix it." Sirius explained.

"Mr. Burke's gain, I guess. How'd Avery end up with this car?" Tom popped the hood and studied what was under it.

"The previous owner managed to dump it on us before shit started breaking down."

Tom slammed the hood shut and then dusted his hands.

"I'll be right back. I need to go get the truck." Tom walked away.

Once he was out of earshot, Sirius walked closer to Hermione, who was leaning on the car.

"That boy is something else, I'll tell you." Sirius shook his head. "I don't like it that you're working so close to him."

"How do you know him?" Hermione couldn't help but ask.

"It's a long story. Short version; Mr. Burke is a power player in the black market. It's always been a word-of-mouth sort of thing that he's the man to see for 'special goods'. When I still had my business, he managed to get me some American and Japanese auto parts for me, which spared me a lot of trouble with the government since they impose all those taxes on all foreign stuff.

"I remember Riddle always being there every time I went to go pick up my stuff. He was never friendly. He didn't even bother to say 'hi' when I went in. He'd always look at me as if I were dirt beneath his shoes. There's something to him that I still haven't been able to figure out. Just never take your eyes off him, Hermione."

Sirius was a pretty tough dude. For him to maintain his guard whenever Tom was around said a lot.

They had both hushed up when Tom returned with the truck and carefully backed it up towards the Jaguar. He then chained the fender of it to the hitch of the truck.

"Okay, Granger. Listen carefully. You're going to steer the Jag' while I drive the truck. When I turn, you turn. When I slow down, you need to start breaking. But don't slam on them. Do that correctly and the car should look exactly as it does now when we get back to the shop. Got it?" Tom explained.

Something in the pit of her stomach told her no further damage was to inflict that car, or else.

"Now hop in. This may be the only time you'll get to ride in a Jaguar." Tom snickered as he headed back to the driver's side of the truck.

"Bye Sirius. Tell Harry 'hi' for me." Hermione waved towards the mechanic as she took a seat in the defunct sports car.

"Will do. Take care." He waved back. "Hey Riddle, if anything happens to her, know I'll kill ya!" He yelled in a joking manner, but laced with a promise.

"Whatever Black!" Tom yelled back as he started the truck.

Hermione had never driven a car before. True that this wasn't really driving, but this still sounded sort of fun.

_"Plus, I won't have to ride back with Tom." _She smiled to herself.

* * *

Finally, 5 o' clock came. Time for Hermione to slip out. She probably could've slipped out earlier because Tom did the same thing as he'd always done; completely ignore her as he worked while she sat idly nearby. No matter. She just knew that she had to swing by her flat to pick up her backpack. She would need it for her night class with Mr. Lupin. Now that school was out, he held his class for three-and-a-half hours straight every night with a fifteen-minute break halfway through. She had perfect attendance ever since joining a year ago until her drunken night with Tom. That night, she missed Mr. Lupin going over trigonometry. But she wouldn't allow for that to happen again, especially now that she knew her and Tom could never be friends.

"Granger, where are you going?" Tom stopped her as she hopped off the oil drum. He was still over by the car.

"It's 5 o' clock. Time for me to go." She answered.

"Shit, its five already? Go and get me a flashlight from inside before you go." He commanded.

"My shift is over. Go get it yourself." She left without looking back. It may've been a mistake, but she didn't care. It was her time for her to go and she wasn't going to put up with Tom for a second more than she needed to.

An hour past by the time she made it to Mr. Lupin's home. His house was rather small, but still much larger than her flat. She rang the doorbell a few times before he opened the door.

"Ah, Ms. Granger, like always, you're the first one here. Come in, come in." Mr. Lupin greeted. One would've never guessed that he came from a pureblood family since his clothes were always shabby and patched up. Well, a job as a teacher at a public school is rumored to be one of the worse paying jobs and stressful which showed on his lined face and greying hair even though he was barely thirty-seven.

She took a seat in his living room, where classes where normally held. In the next twenty minutes, the rest of Mr. Lupin's students would come. There were nine others. He had already taken out his chalkboard and two very large books. _Calculus_ and _Differential_ _Equations_; they would continue going over math.

Harry was the next one to show up. His jet black hair was messier than usual. He took a seat next to Hermione on the flower-printed couch.

"Hey, how've you been?" He greeted.

"Fine. Nothing much to report." She answered.

"Really? That's not what Sirius told me when I talked to him on the phone earlier. He said you found yourself a job. That's pretty good news. Where at?"

"At that dump, Borgin & Burkes." She exhaled loudly.

"Borgin & Burkes? I went there a few times with Sirius when I was little. Does that rude shop boy still work there?"

"Sure does." Tom seemed to have quite the reputation around town.

Within the next ten minutes, the rest of the class showed up. Justin Finch-Fletchley, Seamus Finnigan, Lee Jordan, Colin Creevey, Cho Chang, Angelina Johnson, and Dean Thomas were the rest that made up Mr. Lupin's "special class". All of them squished together in the living room in front of Mr. Lupin's chalk board.

"As I've stated before, math is the subject were scores are the worst. Since the mid-80s, the NEWTs have included some calculus. Now don't let this scare you. It's very simple. Take this problem for example." Mr. Lupin pointed to the problem he had written on the board. "To basic principle of derivatives is that you simply multiply the exponent of X and then multiply it by the leading co-efficient. The exponent is then reduced by one. If a number doesn't have an exponent, then it becomes zero."

"That doesn't seem too bad." Said Lee.

"This is only the beginning." He frowned. "I've seen on previous exams that you will also need to know how to apply the quotient rule and the product rule to some equations. I know many of you think my class is very challenging, which sadly makes many students give up, but the NEWTs is notorious for catching students off guard. In order for me to prepare you, I have to cover everything from algebra to beginner's calculus. However, the good news is that most calculus deals with algebra. The 'calculus' is just some properties you'll have to memorize."

Hermione found herself taking pages and pages worth of notes. Derivatives may've sounded easy at first, but as Mr. Lupin went on, she understood why many people did poorly on the math section of their NEWTs. Several of the problems that Mr. Lupin went over got real messy and took up entire pages. Fortunately, she still had a whole year to review this concept, but as he continued to review, she wondered what other curveballs the ministry threw at students to get them to fail. Was she ready enough? Or did she still have a long way to go?

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Okay, here's chapter 3. I planned on it being longer, but I figured if I did that, it would've taken me at least another week to update. Right now, the story may feel like things are moving kind of slow, but that's because I'm still introducing you guys to this little universe. Plenty of action scenes to come! Oh, and please forgive any grammatical errors. I read each chapter thoroughly before I update, but sometimes I miss a few things.

Reviews are much appreciated and will be responded to in the order in which they are received. ^_^

Thank you for reading and keep an eye out for updates!


	4. The Tattoo Artist

**Author's notes:** Okay, now the fun starts. Unfortunately, this means the story must be turned to Rated M. Initially, I had wanted to keep this story at Rated T, but as I picture some scenes in my head, I cannot keep it this way. I'm sort of an old-timer on this site, and I'd really be sad if I got kicked out now. For those of who that have noticed, the sub-genre of this story is Crime, so yeah, I think M will be more appropriate.

Please forgive me for any grammatical errors. I stayed up late to write this, and I wanted to post it pronto.

Happy Reading ^_^

* * *

Chapter 4: The Tattoo Artist

"Finally, after three months of hard work, I have the 'prototype'." Antonin "Tony" Dolohov placed a thin magazine on the counter in front of Tom where he was sitting. "Sadly, I fear I won't savor the glory of creating such a masterpiece until I've long passed, much like the other magnificent artists throughout history."

"You'd be a lot closer to a getting a one-way ticket to Azkaban if you did." Tom picked up the magazine and started flipping through the pages. Each had a very scandalous drawing of a half-nude woman or two in steamy positions.

According to a speech made by Grindelwald in the early '70's, Britain would return to its former position as "The World's Greatest Nation" and rid itself of any "decadence" that could get in the way of that goal. Of course to do that, many things had to become illegal (including pornography of any kind). Not everyone was on board with this move and began taking advantage of the Ministry's neglect of "the Mudblood's half" of London, which would become the nation's "Center of Sin". It was kind of a "hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil" deal. Everyone knew where do go for "certain things" but nobody did anything about it. Even the great ol' Grindelwald knew about this situation, but always kept his eyes away from it. However, the State Police was unpredictable. Depending on the mood they're in, they may feel like joining in on the fun or disrupt it by writing up citations sending folks to jail.

Tony was just another man taking advantage of the situation. Tattoos had also become illegal under Grindelwald's rule as well, but he ran an underground tattoo parlor a block away from Borgin & Burkes where Tom had gotten all of his done. He himself sported a full body-suit over his gangly form that went from his wrists down to his ankles which he usually covered in long sleeves shirts and pants to avoid gaining unwanted attention. Though it was blazing hot outside, he had on long plaid-sleeve shirt and khakis. The buzz cut on his head was probably the only place he felt the summer's breeze. Didn't trouble him though. He loved tattoos and was incredible at his work. Whatever picture someone took for him to replicate on their body, he could make it better, more detailed, and entirely by freehand. Another member of the underground, Scabior was so impressed by his skill and came up with a plan to better his business.

"So this is the project Scabior had you do to advertise for his whores?" Tom asked while still glancing at the magazine. He was never a guy who was into porn. Not a single dirty magazine in his apartment. He knew he was handsome enough to find a quick one-night stand whenever he was feeling a little something, but he did think about finding himself a hooker after looking at the magazine.

"Yup. Pretty clever, ain't it. The plan is to print a whole bunch of these then circulate them all over town. If the Ministry or a cop gets a hold of one, they'll just dismiss is it as another 'soft-core porn magazine', but it really is a catalogue showing what girls Scabior is pimping. He hopes with this, his business will boom and I get ten percent for my investment." Tony explained. "You interested in buying yet?"

"I'll pass." Tom closed the magazine and pushed it back over to Tony.

"Speaking of girls, I've heard from Barty that there is one working here now. Is she hot?" Tony asked. He was such a horn-dog, which is why he didn't hesitate at all when Scabior asked him to make the magazine. To him, that meant seeing a bunch of naked women for free.

"She could be, but she doesn't really fix herself up. I think if she bothered to wear just a little make-up and use some extra hair care stuff, she'd be an 8 or so." Tom answered.

"An 8, huh? When does she come in?"

"She's supposed to be here now." Tom's impatience could be heard slightly in his voice.

Today, Mr. Burke had shut himself in his office to do the budgeting for next month. Normally, he was the one who manned the counter, waiting for customers like a snake waited for its prey. This job was then dumped over to Tom, who was the only other one in the shop because Hermione was missing in action, which irritated him because he still needed to finish taking apart the Jaguar.

"Speak of the devil." Said Tom under his breath. The two men watched Hermione as she walked through the front door. Tony saw what Tom meant that she didn't put thought into her appearance, but that day in particular; she seemed to poke at that a tad too strongly. Her hair was frizzier, dark circles traced the bottom of her eyes, and it looked like she just threw on the first thing she found.

"Granger, how lovely it is of you to show up halfway through the day." Tom said with obviously face charm. "Did you just roll out of bed a half hour ago believing that you didn't need to be here today?"

She exhaled loudly, clearly not in the mood for Tom.

"I never knew that 'ignoring me and having me sit in the corner' was such a crucial part of business." Hermione responded to him in the same manner, but this time it took more effort.

Last night when she saw Mr. Lupin doing all those differential equations, she felt worried that she wouldn't be able to do them and spent all night studying. Not only calculus, but everything she could think of. She wanted to make sure she was covered for the NEWTs, even if it would cost her a good night's rest. Although it wasn't her plan to come into work at 8 sharp, she sure didn't plan on walking in at midday. She passed out over her desk at four in the morning and wouldn't wake again until 11:30.

"A feisty one isn't she." Tony smiled and picked up his magazine. "Well…I'm going to leave you love birds in peace. There are a few things I need to do before my break is over. See you tonight, Tom."

Tony headed out of the shop, but not before he took another quick glance at Hermione.

"Come here, Granger." Tom barked, but Hermione didn't argue because she was so drained. She just settled with rolling her eyes. "Now, you have been promoted from your corner to the seat behind this counter as a cashier. It's only until Mr. Burke is done with the accounting, but it'll at least give you something to do for the time being. Happy?"

"Isn't that a big responsibility for a 'new girl'?" She asked.

"It's charging people for what they want to buy, not finding the cure for cancer." His grey eyes looked dully into her brown ones.

"How do I know what to charge for stuff? Nothing in here has a price tag."

It was true. Not a single item for sale had the price anywhere near it.

"I see you've never shopped at this place before." Tom pulled out a thick, yellowing notebook with tabs sticking out from out of the counter. "Here's a master list of everything for sale. Things with a red mark through it have been sold. For stuff that hasn't, you can find its price right next to it. The reason that they're not on the items themselves because Mr. Burke likes to see how much a customer is willing to pay. Now if you're good at this, he may put some extra thought into what to pay you at the end of the week. On the other hand, if you suck and the customers screw _you_ over, you may end up _owing_ Burke money."

"That's not fair!" Hermione was appalled.

"Mr. Burke is an asshole. What did you expect? Besides, it's a position that you're guaranteed to make more than you normally would. I made a killing the first week I worked here. With that, I was able to pay for the viper tattoo on my back."

"Really?" Hermione seemed to lighten up upon hearing that.

She'd never sold anything in her life, but she had heard of some salesmen that make good money because of their commission checks. She could've used the extra money, especially now that her dad got a pay cut and was moved to the graveyard shift at Malfoy's Plastic Factory where he worked as a security guard. His true aspiration was to become a dentist, but the NEWTs just wouldn't let that be.

"Yeah." Tom answered as he rose up from his stool. "I'll be out back, but if there is a question you can't figure out on your own, and I mean do everything in your power first, go ahead and ask me."

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind." She said as she watched him walk away.

"Oh, and Granger. Next time I ask for you to do something, do not blow me off. I tend to do some irrational things when I'm pissed. Is that clear?" His grey eyes suddenly had a tint of red in them, telling her never to disobey him again.

"Crystal." She said flatly. It upset her that Tom thought so little of her that he thought he could control her with intimidation. She'd show him one day, but when she had more energy to argue.

Now she was all alone with only her thoughts to keep her company. It was quiet aside from the air blowing from the vents. Random things popped up into her head like, "Like what if I pop open the register and run off with all the money? What's the worst that Mr. Burke could do? What's the worst he could have Tom do? Were they really a threat at all? This place is dead. The register is probably empty anyways. Does anything even sell in this place?"

Hermione opened the notebook that Tom had handed to her. There were two different handwritings in it. Some of it was messy and clashed together and some of it was neat and evenly spaced.

"_I wonder which one is Tom's."_ She thought.

Not surprisingly, there was a lot of stuff, but very few things had red marks. The economy was on the rocks, so it made sense that nothing wasn't selling anymore. Her dream of making big bucks as a successful saleswoman was quickly fading away.

"_Mr. Burke is a power player in the black market. It's always been a word-of-mouth sort of thing that he's the man to see for 'special goods'."_ Sirius's words came to her mind.

Did that mean that this shop was a front? She understood what Sirius meant by "special goods", but what was the extent of it? And where were all these 'special goods'? Whatever money Mr. Burke was making, he sure didn't flaunt it. Every day, he went to work in faded clothes and wore cheap cologne that burned her nostrils whenever she caught a whiff of him. Tom though had a lot of tattoos, and tattoos were expensive.

Was it a good idea to continue working there? If they went down, she sure as hell didn't want to go down with them. She didn't like either of them, so why would she?

"Excuse me?" A masculine voice pulled her out of her musings. "How much are these record players over hear?"

He was a tall redheaded boy around her age and he was standing by the electronics section. She couldn't deny that he was cute, but he was no Tom Riddle.

"Ugg…" She started flipping through the notebook to find record players. They ranged from 45-65 pounds. This was her opportunity to make extra money, but she felt this nagging feeling in the pit of her gut.

"_I can't rip him off. I can't rip him off."_ It kept telling her.

"Um, miss?" The boy asked again.

"90 pounds." She said quickly before her inner voice would get too annoying.

"Really? I mean some of them look really nice, but aren't they all kind of old?" He looked at her skeptically.

"They're vintage. Kept in immaculate condition and work just like they did in the 60's." It all came so naturally to her. She didn't know if any of what she said was true, but it wasn't, it didn't sound too farfetched. The record players were made out of wood and were neatly polished by her when she cleaned.

"I really like this one, but can we go down to maybe 75 pounds?" He picked it over and brought it over to the counter.

"I'll stand firm at 80." She tried to say with an emotionless mask, much like the one Tom wore to work every single day. She was sure he was good at this; selling people useless crap for a lot of money. Would he still be working there after so many years if he wasn't?

"Okay." The boy exhaled.

"Are you sure you don't want a walkman? They're more compact and, you know, modern?" She tried to lighten the mood.

"It's an anniversary gift for my parents. They have a bunch of old records lying around that they can't play. You have no idea how hard it was to find a shop that still sold them." The boy pulled out his wallet to pay her.

"There are all kinds of retro stuff here. We even have one of those blocky Nintendos complete with the little Duck Hunt gun from the 80s."

"I used to have one of those, but then my brother Fred burnt it out after playing Super Mario for twelve hours straight." He laughed.

"I'd be pissed." She laughed too.

"Well I was at first, but I have a Nintendo 64 now, so I don't think about it anymore."

"You're not from around here, are you?" She eyed him curiously. People from her neighborhood could barely afford to buy TVs. They weren't going to spend extra money on something trivial as a gaming system. His pale cheeks reddened before he answered.

"No…I barely ever come down here, but I really wanted to find a record player." He said kind of shyly.

"Your parents are really lucky to have a son as thoughtful as you." She smiled.

"I don't even know if they notice that though. I have six other siblings." It looked like he wished that sometimes that he was an only child. Funny; Hermione grew up an only child and wished she had a little brother or sister to have adventures with.

"Must've been rough."

"Sometimes. Five of them are brothers. Only one sister."

"Older or younger?"

"The youngest. Lucky her, she has six older brothers keep an eye on her."

"And six older brothers to kick the boy's ass that breaks her heart."

It was weird how easy it was to talk to this boy. His deep blue eyes were so friendly, so inviting. Starkly contrasted Tom's cold, grey ones that were like boarded-up windows. He was so reserved, but this boy had no trouble talking to her about his family and she didn't even know his name.

"At what time does this place close?" He asked.

"I think it's open until eight or so, but I'm out by five." She answered. "Why?"

"I don't normally do this, but…a, do you want to go get a bite to eat when you're free?" He had trouble saying. The look in his eyes said that he was truly into her.

When was the last time Hermione had gone out on a date? Ice was on the streets from what she remembered and it was a quick cup of cocoa with a boy who knew nothing about girls. It was a lame date without any park. Not even a tiny little miniscule of one. A real date on the other hand, was nonexistent in her record books. She had been so into her studies since she was eight that she never allowed herself the chance to have a boyfriend.

This boy did seem the boyfriend type. Clearly an open book, easygoing, and from a good family which also showed on the quality of his clothes; casual but designer. He was cute with neatly combed red hair, but he wasn't drop dead gorgeous like Tom.

_"Why do I keep thinking of that prick?"_ Hermione snapped at herself. No, she needed to see how things would go with this boy. Tom wasn't an option.

"I do have something to do at six," she remembered Mr. Lupin's lecture. No way was she missing another class again. "But is 8:30 okay?"

"Sound good. How about I meet you at The Three Broomsticks? They're open pretty late and they have excellent food."

"It's a date, but first you have to tell me your name?"

"Ron Weasley. Do you have some paper and a pen so I can give you my pager number?" He gestured with his hands.

"Yeah, just let me look for a clean sheet…somewhere." She looked around the counter.

A date with Ron Weasley at 8:30 at The Three Broomsticks. Sounded good in deed.

* * *

**8:03 pm**

Everything was dark. This blindfold completely disabled his vision. Not a single ray of light got through if any light was on at all. The room smelled funny, like cigarette smoke and a lot of it. It was humid too. Made the atmosphere even more suffocating. Already, he had been feeling anxiety from a thirty minute ride in a car trunk. Now they had sat him on a metal foldable chair. What were they going to do to him now?

A pair of handcuffs kept his hands behind his back, but he didn't try to shake his hands free. They didn't even twitch. This wasn't a kidnapping. He went with them voluntarily. He'd only seen one of the guy's faces before they tied a black bandana around his head, but he wasn't afraid to go with them. At least not at first. His heart was racing faster with each passing second that they kept him in silence. Another half hour passed before he heard footsteps.

"Do you know who we are?" A deep voice said a few feet in front of him.

"The Death Eaters?" His voice was shaky.

"Do you know what we represent?" The voice continued.

Now he really had to think. This was a trick question. The Death Eaters was a band of criminals. What was the correct answer?

"Anarchy?" He took a wild guess.

"Nice guess, but no. We need an oppressive government to survive. Their many bans and restrictions drives many industries to the black market. We run the black market all across Great Britain. That includes its territories in Africa and Asia. The Death Eaters represent something much greater than something as ridiculous as anarchy. Now why do you want to join a group that you don't truly understand?"

He wanted to be a Death Eater ever since he saw a group of them. They all stood their ground like they owned it and wore heavy leather jackets. His life was so boring. He knew with the Death Eaters, he would find excitement.

"I feel something every time I think of the Death Eaters. It's an empowering feeling. I can't quite explain it, but I to feel it all the time. I know I want to be a Death Eater. I don't think twice about it."

"Is that so? But what good would you be to us? The last pureblood we let join our ranks turned out to be a disappointment. I had to put a bullet in between his eyes in the end."

"I won't be a disappointment. I'm intelligent. I'm ambitious. I'm cunning. I could become the greatest Death Eater if given the chance. Tony could tell you. He's been having me do a few assignments to test me and I passed them all with no problem."

The footsteps came closer.

"That was child's play. When you're a Death Eater, you have to put us ahead of yourself at all times, even if that means that you have to kill your mother. I will put you through even more rigorous tests. Depending on how you do on this evaluation will determine their difficulty. Have you even held a gun before?"

Yes, he had. A rifle when he went pheasant hunting with his father, but that was it.

"Do you realize the magnitude of the crime we commit? I say by now we even rival the Sicilian Mafia. In a few years, we'll surpass them. I won't let a snot-nosed rich kid trying to live out a fantasy ruin that. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir."

"When we need you, you must respond right away. I don't care if you're in class or in the middle doing your girlfriend."

"Yes sir."

"Now for your first task is simple. I like a good smoke, and I've really been craving a cigar…from somewhere foreign and exotic, preferably from the Dominican Republic. Pick me up a few, will you."

"Of course, sir."

This shouldn't be too hard. His father liked to collect cigars. Not really to smoke them. He had them more as a status symbol. Only British grown tobacco was allowed to be sold in the country. Foreign smokes would carry heavy tariffs.

"Tony, take your boy out of here. I'm done with him for the night."

* * *

Class with Mr. Lupin was like a breath of fresh air tonight. He started going over Shakespeare, whom Hermione had quite admired. Now she strolled down the dark street that glowed somewhat yellow from the occasional streetlamp on her way to her date with Ron. The start of her week may've been crappy, but now things were really picking up. Every little thing was going to be alright.

* * *

**Author's Notes part 2:** Started writing this almost immediately after I took my physics exam. I think it went well, but I won't know my results until Monday. I really hate physics now. Anyways, about the story, I hope I created some suspense in the second half. I bet y'all can guess who the boy in the chair was. Like I said earlier, the crime part of this story begins now. Hope you like.

I like feedback a lot so, umm...

Please Review! :D


	5. The Go Go Dancer

**Author's notes:** So for those of you that actually cared, I'm happy to report that I got an A+ on my Physics exam! Sadly, I have my final next week. :'( But, I made sure to write another chapter before my mind became overly crammed with math.

**Response to anonymous reviews:**

**To Cool Chick:** If you like the shift in the story now, you're in for a wild ride later on in the story.

**To Sammy**: I love guys with tattoos, so I just had to put tattoos on Tom for this story. In my mind, he looks incredibly sexy with them. And I love Ron. I don't care what anyone says, he'll always be one of my favorite characters and he just had to be in my story. And I don't mind writing fanfiction. It's my favorite thing to do, especially after all the math in my life pisses me off.

**To Nikki:** Still many more twists to come in my crazy universe.

**To lizzywithfire:** Plenty more Ron scenes to come.

**To anon:** Yes, there will be plenty more and I'm hoping with prompt service.

Oh, and my birthday is right around the corner. Nothing makes me happier than hearing back from you, my lovely readers. Get it? Got it? Good. ^_^ So drop a note before you leave. Thank you.

**Warnings:** Cursing and suggestive stuff

Like always, Happy Reading. :D

* * *

Chapter 5: The Go-Go Dancer

_**Friday, July 4 10:00 pm**_

Myrtle wasn't a particularly pretty girl. Nothing spectacular in normal lighting. Just thin black hair, large dark brown eyes, and B-cup breasts. She was a little more attractive in darker rooms with neon lights and thick make-up, but what really caught men's attentions was her ability to "work the pole". No, she wasn't the prettiest girl, but whenever she was on the stage, a monsoon of pound notes flooded it. For a special fee and a few words with Scabior, her pimp, she could make a man's fantasy come true. It was a fantasy alone to have her all to one's self, because that special fee was far from cheap. Funny how five years ago, she was incredibly meek and spent most of her time crying in bathrooms because of how pathetic her life was. Now she made a small fortune dancing nearly nude (save for a skimpy bikini) in public. Last she heard, her arch-nemesis from her school days, Olive Hornby, had lost her job and was living in a 300 square foot flat with another family. Karma sure knew how to sting.

As many guys as she saw a night, one man always caught her eye. He was so sexy, and every time she danced on his lap, he smelt so good. It was a strangely appealing scent of soap and tobacco. He came regularly, but not too often. When he did, she'd always go by his table for a half hour or so and they'd flirt back and forth but it never led anywhere. Things were probably better this way. It kept relationship between them fresh. Every now and then, he would be there with some other tough looking guys and tonight, he had brought the skinny fellow with all the tattoos and one with unbelievably blond hair that she hadn't seen before.

"Myrtle, how are those tips coming along tonight?" He asked, smiling with a thick cigar dangling from his lips.

"Slower than usual, but I think that I can put in that Jacuzzi on my balcony by next week." She liked to tease him with indirect sexual advances. How he was with a woman, she always wondered. Would he be smooth or aggressive? It made her hot just thinking about it, but there was something about not knowing that kept him even more fascinating. She may've been too young to have a bucket list, but bedding Tom was definitely on it.

"Well, when you do, you give me a call to come over." He winked an eye at her.

Prostitutes weren't really his thing unless he was really bored and didn't want to deal with all the drama that regular girls brought in exchange for sex. Why couldn't they treat it for what it actually was rather than attaching all these emotions to it? As he saw things, prostitutes but the "pro" in "professional". They never complicated things and just did exactly what they were paid for. Unfortunately, if he wanted quality, he would have to be prepared blow a lot of cash. Cheap prostitutes came with stuff much worst than drama. Myrtle was grade A quality, but he was saving her for a _really_ bad night.

He pulled out a fat grip of cash from his leather jacket stripped a few bills from it to hand to her. "Give this bloke a quick dance, will you? I owe him for these great cigars."

Draco's stony eyes widened slightly at that. He'd never been to a strip club before and felt even more nervous because this one was well hidden from Ministry officials. Who knows what kind of vice went on in that place. So far from what he saw, some girls danced totally nude on patrons. Then there was a few guys by the bar taking hits of cocaine. Guaranteed, if his father knew where he was right now, he'd be disowned in a heartbeat. But he had to keep his composure, if not Tom would think he was pathetic and keep him from ever becoming a Death Eater. His face became as solid as a steel door as Myrtle took a seat on his lap.

"Are you queer or something? Why are you getting so tense? Myrtle is the best in the business, so relax." Large thick clouds of smoke came out of Tom as he spoke.

Draco was a bit offended with the accusation of homosexuality. True, he had never had a girlfriend before, but he never questioned the fact that he was straight. Once he felt his muscles loosen up, he felt the pleasure that came with one of these exotic dances. Further told himself that he wasn't gay.

"_Wow…this is nice."_ Draco said in his head as Myrtle continued to grind on him. _"Is it okay to show my excitement or is that considered inappropriate. Maybe I shouldn't risk it. I'll think about school then. Umm…math, calculus, limits. I need to take the conjugate when there's…Wait! What if she's expecting me to get hard? How can a guy not when a girl dances like this on him? Crap, what do I do?"_

A million thoughts raced through Draco's head that he was surprised when Myrtle stood up. It felt like she was only on him for a few seconds.

"Hmm…this boy was stiff, but not in the way I'm used to. You've never been with an exotic dancer before, have you Blondie?" She smirked. Thank God it was dark in that club because Draco was sure his cheeks were bright red. He couldn't even look up at her eyes anymore. He shook his head "no" with his eyes towards his hands.

"Ah, we'll fuck him up soon enough. I remember what a shy little girl you once were and look at you now." Laughed Tony.

Myrtle gave him the bird in a joking sense, but she didn't want Tony to make her feel bad about some decisions that she had made in life. It was all for the best, she always reminded herself.

"Well my break is over, but before I forget, Scabior found out where Bagman was staying while he's in London through one of the other girls. Here's where he's currently staying." Myrtle pulled out a folded up sticky note from her bra and placed it in Tom's huge hand.

"How did this not fall out when you were hanging upside down earlier?" Tom asked as he opened the note. _Terra Belle Motel; what a modest stay for the old bastard. _"Let's go, mates. It's only 10 o'clock. Ludo should still be awake."

* * *

Hermione had always insisted that she could walk herself home after her night dates with Ron, but he always responded with, "It's late and it wouldn't be safe for you to walk home alone." He was probably right. She could count with one hand the number of working street lights from Diagon Alley to her flat. Hidden in the shadows were society's true undesirables. Occasionally, the sound of police sirens could be heard in the distance, but in reality, most cops were just as dangerous as the criminals they pretended to fight against. It was like justice and integrity didn't exist in their vocabulary.

"Are you sure it's still okay to go on dates this late every night? I think our lunch dates together are nice and we can arrange to meet each other more often when there is sun…and people…." Ron suggested.

He did look a little stiff walking around in the dark on "the wrong side of the tracks". Hermione felt the same way too when she started going to Mr. Lupin's classes every evening. A whole year had passed without a single traumatizing incident (she thanked all that was sacred and pure for this), so she had gained more confidence in her neighborhood. Not to give it too much credit though; she always walked on the part of the sidewalk closest to the street and never went into alleys or any shady-looking shortcuts. It took longer, but it was always better to be safe than sorry.

"I'm sure. I've told you before; I've walked these streets hundreds of times at night. You don't need to take me home." She reminded him once again.

"I don't mind. Really," he asserted with a façade if bravery, "but I don't feel comfortable not knowing for sure if you made it home okay."

They were drawing close by her building. The one light in the front started to flicker now and was a piss yellow color. It did little to illuminate the entrance that it might as well burn out. Hermione turned her whole body completely to face Ron who was quite tall, causing her to tilt her head back to look up at him.

"That's very sweet of you Ron, but I've lived here for seventeen years now. I can't go on feeling scared forever. I already know the worst this neighborhood has to offer and I know how to avoid becoming another statistic." She reassured him by grabbing both of his big hands. They were pretty smooth. Not a single callous could be felt on them.

Ron didn't say anything. He didn't know what to say. He could tell by the few dates he has had with this girl that she had more spunk in her than she looked. She was a great girl. She didn't deserve to live in this half of town. Her apartment building alone questionable and he swore it had a funky smell to it.

"That's good." He finally answered with an exhale. "But…in case you ever need anything, just let me know. I know you we barely know each, and you have no reason to trust me…"

"I trust you just fine." She gave him a quick peck on the cheek before she turned to go inside. "See you tomorrow." She smiled.

"Bye." Ron waved before he turned around and left as well.

It was late, almost midnight. Lucky for her, her dad worked nights, so he didn't know about her late night rendezvous. He'd throw a fit if he did. So far, having a boyfriend felt like a healthy shift in her life. For once, her mind wasn't always on money and school, and it felt so liberating. Ron may have not been Mr. Perfect (he was kind of awkward and a little clumsy), but all in all, they were great dates. He really did make the effort to impress her. He took her to The Three Broomsticks on their first date! One of the fanciest and most expensive restaurants in town! She didn't really feel comfortable with him paying for the whole meal but there was no way she could've afforded to pay her half and all she had gotten was a salad and a glass of water. Since then, she came up with plans that didn't require much money if any. Tonight, they walked around Hogsmeade Park (the most beautiful place in England in her opinion).

It was a great date and now she was tired. Her bed was only three flights of stairs away. Unfortunately, old habits die hard. This nagging feeling started bothering her again.

"_You should study before going to bed."_ Her inner voice told her. _"Do you want to work in menial jobs forever? Then STUDY!"_

She tried really hard to ignore it as she started her exhausting journey up the stairs.

"_Don't ignore me, Hermione! HERMIONE!"_

"_Another hour awake shouldn't hurt."_ She told herself, submitting once again to her inner voice. As her foot touched the third stair of the second flight, she remembered that she had left her math book at work. Everyday there was a slow day, so she decided her time would be put to better use to study in between the one or two customers a day.

"I'll just study at work again tomorrow." She groaned.

"_GO GET IT NOW!"_

Why couldn't she have remembered when Ron was with her? She knew she had told him that she didn't mind walking alone at night, but Knockturn Alley was something else. The place was famous for violent crimes happening in broad daylight. Borgin & Burkes wasn't that far away from her flat, but somehow the walk down there at night felt longer. It was usually warm at night during the summers, but tonight felt oddly cold. By one of the street lamps, she saw Mundungus Fletcher in an old tattered trench coat. Hermione took care to not walk to close to him. He was a notorious drug pusher.

When she finally arrived at the door of Mr. Burke's shop, she knelt down to pick the lock. A skill she wasn't too proud of, but useful from time to time. Sirius had showed her for fun when she was thirteen years old.

"_Weird…the door is already open."_ Hermione noticed while on her knee. Tom and Mr. Burke didn't seem the forgetful type, so why was the door open? Was there somebody inside? She stood up to push open the door slowly so that annoying bell and its usual creek wouldn't be so loud if somebody _was_ there. She may've not have had any malicious intent for being there so late, but she didn't want to deal with whoever was inside.

The shop was nearly black with only a few outlines of the shelves visible. The walk over to the counter was going to be a long one. If she accidentally broke something, it would for sure come out of her pay tomorrow. Her feet gently landed on the rough wooden surface with each step and her hands moved slowly to detect obstructions in her path. A normally five-second walk had turned into a five-minute one. She patted around for her book, but couldn't feel it.

"_I am at the counter right?"_ She continued to pat the surface. At some point, she started leaning up over it as she was still blindly looking for the thick book.

She noticed some light coming from under Mr. Burke's door. Once she saw that, she started listening for noise. It was muffled, but she heard voices. There was more than one person inside, but none of them sounded like Burke's oily voice. The door was opening and she didn't have enough time to jump back in front of the counter. The skinny punk covered in tattoos was the first to come out.

"Blimey. What are you doing here beautiful?" Tony asked with a creepy smile on his long, twisted face.

"I came to get my book." She answered with a straight face as she saw Tom step out of the office as well.

"You came to get your book?" Tom obviously didn't believe her. "It's nearly 1 in the morning, Granger."

"I'm fully aware what time it is, but I needed my book, so I came to get it." She stood her ground. This was a bad situation. There was Tom, Tony, and some super blond kid with a sullen look on his face behind them who was a few inches taller than her. It was the middle of the night in a shifty store in a shifty neighborhood. Should they choose to, she could be found tomorrow morning in a dumpster being gnawed on by rats.

"Cal-cu-lus," Tony sounded out the title of her book as he picked it up from the counter. "Are you smart, girl?"

"Why?" She looked at him.

"If you are, then there's a way you can make extra-"

"Quiet!" Tom snapped before Tony could finish his sentence. This was the first time Hermione had seen him lose his temper. He was always good on keeping his cool, even when he wasn't in particularly happy about something.

"Come on, mate. We need more girls in our gang."

"Gang? I should've known." Hermione smirked. Most likely a mistake as Tom became more livid.

"Who are you to judge me, Granger?" His voice was now dangerously low. "Do you think you're better than me?" Hermione didn't shift from her stance as Tom came closer to her. The cigar smoke smell on him burned her nostrils.

"Well unlike you, I haven't submitted to criminal activity to make a living. I'm actually trying to become a success the right way."

"Is that what 'mummy and daddy' told you? Open your fucking eyes and take a look of the real world. Do you even hear about mudbloods that have passed the NEWTs anymore? Just because they're smart doesn't gain them anymore respect from purebloods. They wind up in the shittiest jobs at the Ministry. You have to play just as dirty as them to get what you want."

His words nearly made her question her beliefs, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing he had caused her to abandon them.

"What do you know? You didn't even take them."

"Look Granger." Frustration showed in his voice now. "You don't think in the fifty-two years that Grindelwald has been in power that there hasn't been another person like you? Do you honestly believe that you're the only one who has studied day and night, hoping to pass the NEWTs and make changes in the Ministry once they graduate from Hogwarts? Grindelwald is not stupid. He knows how to deal with the few mudbloods who wind up in the Ministry. Believe it or not, I think your intelligence could be put to better use than walking into the same death trap so many of your kind have in the past."

Weird, how he could still make a complement sound like a slap in the face. From what she just heard was that she was smart, but had no future.

"And so what? I'm supposed to throw my hands up in defeat."

Tom shook his head and felt something in his arms that made him want to shake her like a serious earthquake.

"You're so unbelievably naïve that I'm close to retracting my statement about you being 'intelligent'. I suggest that on your way to work tomorrow, take a few minutes to look at your neighborhood. Think about what I've said tonight and we'll continue in the morning. Now get out; I need to close the shop."

Hermione snatched her book from Tony before she headed out the door. It irked her so badly on how Tom never hesitated to smash her hopes and dreams. What did he expect her to do? Become a criminal just like him? How would that benefit the poor? From what she could tell by sitting in the front every day for the past week was that Mr. Burke liked to take advantage of them. Tom wasn't much better. That poor blond boy had a longer face than a horse on muscle relaxers. This wasn't over. She would do what Tom asked her, and then she would show him up in a fiery argument at work later on. But first, she needed to study a little and four hours of sleep.

* * *

**A/N:** There's chapter 5. I would've updated sooner, but I got distracted once I discovered what a great show Glee is. I would've never guessed I would get hooked on it, but can't stop streaming videos every day after work. Anyways, I'm trying to work out a thing to upload at least one chapter every week. There may be weeks when I upload two, but there's no guarantee. I may not be as free as a bird right now, but given the title of this story, I would like to finish it by the end of August.

So don't be shy. Write a review before you go on to read more fanfiction.


	6. The Dreamer

**Author's Notes:** Would've updated sooner, but I lost the flash drive that I had this chapter saved on when I was half way done. :'( I like how technology has improved by making things smaller, but I have a terrible habit of losing them.

**To Sammy:** Thank you for the awesome birthday wishes! I agree math does make the world go around, but sometimes I feel that me and math need to take a break sometimes. And for right now, Tony and Draco are allies of our tatted Tom.

**Warnings:** Some violence, a little course language, and sprinkles of lime.

* * *

Chapter 6: The Dreamer

"_BLAM!"_

The sound kept ringing so clear in his ears over and over again. He'd heard the sound before in some bootlegged American films that his friend Blaise had downloaded from the web, but hearing a gunshot in real life was _so_ different. It felt so much louder, like it could be heard across town and that the earth vibrated from the large magnitude of its force. Yet, nobody would go up to that motel room to see why it had been made. Didn't people understand what this sound meant? A man was lying dead on the floor! With the pull of a trigger, his life was over and there was no going back. Seven more rounds later, another man fell to the ground. More deep red blood stained the carpet and that awful metallic smell filled the room.

What had happened? He'd seen stuff like this in films all the time. _Die Hard, Die Hard 2, Lethal Weapon, Pulp Fiction_…all of those movies made killing look so _easy_. Switching on a microwave seemed to require more work in comparison. Draco wasn't that naïve though. He knew things would be different if he held a gun, and not just the hunting rifle that he used when he went fox hunting with his father, but a _real_ gun. A .9mm like the one Tom used to shot Ludo Bagman to death last night. He made it look so effortless as well, as if he was just swatting a fly. Actually, thinking back on it, Tom did put a little more effort than that.

_**July 4**__**th**__**, 10:32 PM**_

He shot Bagman's friend once in the chest without batting an eyelash. It was so unexpected that Bagman had stopped in midsentence while explaining why he hadn't paid Mr. Burke back the huge loan he had taken from him.

"Oh, forgive me Mr. Bagman. Did I interrupt your train of thought? Please continue." Tom had said so casually, his gun still in his hand, still loaded and ready for another go. Half a second ago, the fat and balding ex-football star kept on rambling on for three straight minutes on why he didn't have the money. After the first pop, it was like he was put on pause. His nerves were running wild and he physically shook. Tom raised an eyebrow and spoke up to break the silence. "Are you finished?"

Bagman continued to shake and his bright blue eyes never left Tom's gun.

"Well then allow me to retort." Tom began to pace around the tiny common area of the room. "What do you prefer Mr. Bagman? Men or women?"

"W-what?" Bagman said weakly.

"_BLAM!"_ A cap smashed itself into his kneecap.

"A _real_ answer Mr. Bagman please." Tom said with a little more impatience. Again, his gun was smoking at the barrel with a few more bullets left in the magazine.

"W-w-women!" Bagman yelped in pain as he clutched his bleeding knee. Blood gushed through the spaces in between his fingers.

"Ah, so you _are_ straight. Then why are you trying to screw a couple of men who came to your aid when you needed it most. Lestrange wouldn't have dreamed about giving you a loan with nothing left to your name. But _our_ kindness is not unconditional, Mr. Bagman. This we made clear when we handed you that over-stuffed envelope.

"Eighteen months have passed since we lent you that money, and we've failed to see a single penny of it since then. It's an insult alone that you have nothing to show for it. You're living in a sleazy motel and eating a rubbish burger from The Hog's Head. If you were to stand next to an old poster of yourself, no one would be able to see the resemblance. Come on now mate; couldn't you take at least twenty minutes a day to run around the block? It's disgusting looking at you now."

"I know things look bad, but if you give me more ti-"

"_BLAM_!"

Tom didn't wait for Bagman to finish his sentence. Why bother? It was just another half-ass excuse for why he couldn't pay him back for the loan. The bullet zipped through his brain in less than a second and Tom fired five more shots into his chest for good measure.

Draco had felt he had been on the receiving end of each of those bullets as they sprang out of the gun's chamber. It wasn't a movie anymore. Instead of filling him with adrenaline, the sound made him feel sharp stabs of pain in his chest. He had heard live ammunition, firing into real people, and seeing them bleed real blood. Brain and skull was on the carpet as well, and it looked even more gruesome. What is it about movies that made stuff like this look easy to stomach? The sight was bad, but the smell was much worse. He just wanted to throw up, but he held the bile back.

Tom had brought him along on that mission for a reason. It was a test. A test to see if he could deal with the harshness of the criminal underworld. When Tom had told him he would be going through a series of tests to see if he was Death Eater material, he thought he would just be put on some pointless missions involving some petty crimes. He never would've thought he'd be an accessory to murder. Double murder to be more precise. Tom was good; testing him psychologically like that. He would need to be morally deprived to witness a scene like that again. He turned to Tony who was laughing as he saw Bagman fall of his chair. In due time, would he be able to cackle at other peoples' pain?

Eight hours had passed since he had gone home and went to bed, but he didn't sleep a wink. How could he? The violent images kept replaying in his head, from the first shot to the last. He even remembered the look in Tom's face as he made them. There was a red gleam over his grey eyes, which didn't enhance his handsome features, but rather made him look less human. How many times had he done this in the past? This cold-blooded routine of ridding the earth of anybody that rubbed him the wrong way? Had he been this way to other Death Eaters?

What would Tom do if he tried to walk away now? This thought only rang in his head for a quick minute. Soon he remembered why he was in this fix in the first place. He was so close to getting everything that he had ever wanted since he was fourteen years old. Right now, his father was grooming him to be the next President of Malfoy Enterprises, but that's not what he wanted. Every time a private tutor had come to his house, he just wanted to punch them in the nose. He felt like a puppet, and his father was pulling the strings.

According to Lucius Malfoy, Draco would pass his NEWTs with flying colors, attend Hogwarts, majoring in Business Administration and minoring in Political Science. From there, he would graduate at the top of his class, and work a few years under his father before ascending to "the throne". He didn't even have the choice to pick the woman he would like to marry. Lucius had started talking to the Greengrass family in hopes of getting them interested to have their daughter marry him.

This was no fun. He couldn't even remember the last time he had called the shots in his life. Only ten hours may've passed since he had met Tom Riddle (no blindfold and had the chance to shake the man's hand), but he already knew the man was his true idol. Tom looked like he had everything all figured out and that nobody told him what to do. Ever. This man was so easy-going, so calm, that it made Draco relax by just looking at him. His voice was deep and smooth, but also held an authoritative tone to it. Tom was so cool that he made the simple act of smoking look like an art form. He would take in deep drags without coughing, and then blow out the smoke slowly, with some coming out of his nostrils. Then he would just flick it, not caring where it landed.

One day, Draco hoped to be like him. It shook him up quite a bit to see this man riddle two other men with bullets, but it was only temporary right? He was sure over time, he would be able to see people bleed without thinking about gagging and he would become the best Death Eater, second only to the boss. Seeing the "pros" in all this didn't make him sleep any better. He still tossed and turned in his king-sized bed. The image of seeing Bagman's brains being blown out of his head was the cause of that.

"_It's just my first time seeing shit like that. It won't bother me in the future."_

Twenty-some hours had passed since he had last slept, but it would all pay off in the long run, right?

* * *

_**July 5**__**th**__**, 8:17 AM**_

Four cigarettes down, one still ablaze. Hermione immediately noticed the darker atmosphere and scrunched up her noise as she smelt the burning tobacco. Twelve steps later, she would be standing in front of him as he sat behind the counter reading the newspaper.

"Why hello there, Granger." Tom blew out some smoke out of his nostrils without looking up at her. "Did you do the homework I gave you last night?"

"As a matter of fact I did." She placed both her hands on the counter as she spoke. "I stopped maybe two blocks away from here for about five minutes to observe what was going around me. I saw a group of teenage boys getting high by a stop sign and some tramp peeing on a building. So many messages come to my head, but which one was the one you wanted me to pick up?"

Tom chuckled as he blew up another cloud of smoke. He even put down his paper to look up at her hazel eyes. They still were so innocent, even with all the fire that burned within them. What he could do with her if she agreed to join the Death Eaters. No, she didn't deserve to waste her talents and her time with the Ministry. The bastards would just tear her apart and throw her back to the ugliness of South London. She deserved much more than that. If he brought her up right, she would make an ideal queen in his underworld empire.

"Nothing too deep. I just wanted you to have a quick reality check before you spoke to me again. You know, get all that idealistic rubbish out, if even a little bit."

The fourth cigarette had burned to the filter. He stubbed it on the counter (the one that she had spent an entire morning polishing), and then proceeded to light another cigarette. Did he not mind that he was polluting her air as well? Hermione had never known any smokers before and it simply grossed her out when people smoked out in the streets. Why would people intentionally inhale that poison? It was even worse than alcohol because it had even more impurities within it. She picked up the little sea green pack of smokes to try to understand the attraction that Tom had had with them.

"Newport. 20 class A cigarettes. Surgeon General Warning: Smoking is known to be linked to lung cancer." She read all the words aloud on the packaging. It was pretty light. She flipped open the hard pack to see only two more cigarettes were inside.

"Good job, Ms. Granger. I'm sure with that potential; you'll soon be able to read all the words on a cereal box." Tom said, piling onto her little rant.

"Aren't Newport cigarettes an American Brand? How did you get them?"

"_This girl is sharp. Everyone in Britain knows the strained relationship between us and the states and how American goods carry unbelievably high tariffs. Most people never care to notice what brand I smoke, but she noticed right away."_ Tom thought while sucking on the filter.

"I have my ways." He smirked. "Now I have a question for you. I see you've been studying calculus a lot lately and I just wanted to know if you were any good at it."

She took a few seconds to reflect on her progress on the dreadful subject. The thought of working a differential equation made her want to tear out her hair a lot less than a week ago. As a matter of fact, once she started getting the hang of it, she started to notice the beauty of the subject. Before, she thought it was the most pointless subject in the world, but now she saw it was probably the most useful. The book she was using had a lot of little trivial facts on how equations were thought up and what their purpose was. She found them really interesting, and studying became less agonizing. She was proud to say a week later, she understood Newton's Second Law of Motion on a totally different level. Just from the simple F=ma formula, she could solve a large array of simple mechanical problems.

"I may not be at the Albert Einstein stage quite yet, but I'm on my way." She answered Tom, feeling very good about herself.

"That's good to hear. Now going back to that pipe dream of yours of becoming a top dog in the ministry; how do you think they apply all that math?"

She wasn't expecting him to ask that question. The ministry was a form of government. They couldn't have used advance math too often. Now that she thought about it, she remembered she used to ask herself that same question when Mr. Lupin started to teach the subject. The NEWTs was an indescribably difficult exam, but why? Out of every citizen who took them, how many would have to know the process of finding the area underneath a graph for their future career? But Mr. Lupin swore those type of questions were always asked on the NEWTs every year. Ironic how the NEWTs were created to measure one's worth in society, yet half of the information learned was practically thrown out the window, depending on what major a person chose.

"Life is too short to stress over so much on a stupid exam that in reality doesn't do you much good. My suggestion is that you apply all that hard work to something that will pay off."

"And you're trying to tell me I'll find more fulfillment in your 'gang'?" Hermione crossed her arms. Hearing her say it like that made him cringe internally. She did think she was better than him, and he knew that that wasn't so.

"You say it like that; of course it's going to sound like a bad thing." His tone was stricter. Hermione tensed up a bit when she noticed his dark grey eyes had a more solid shade to them. They were like clouds just before a storm. "But the Death Eaters is not just another group of ne'er-do-wells that waist their lives doing pointless, dumb shit. At least that is true for a100 percent, bona-fide Death Eater. I may never be able to bring you up to my level, but I can bring you fairly close. If you catch on quick, I could even have you writing computer code by next year."

"Computers? You mean to tell me you have a computer?" Hermione couldn't believe her ears.

Just what kind of mess was Tom into? Computers were insanely overpriced in Great Britain, where only the wealthiest of elite families could afford to buy them. It was another way Grindelwald kept the average folk in the dark. With the proper connections, the rest of the world was just a few clicks away. But the Ministry couldn't have that. They weren't going to allow the "mudbloods" let the rest of the world now how oppressed they were in their own country. What exactly did Tom do to get his hands on one and what was he doing with it?

"Damn right I have a computer and I must say it was the best investment I've ever made in my life."

This all sounded so fascinating now. So Tom wasn't some other two-bit hustler just trying to make ends meet by committing a felony every now and then. No, no, no. He was much more sophisticated than that. What his long term goals were, she couldn't tell, but it may be worth the risk if she could load up her arsenal with knowledge that could potentially do harm to the evil Ministry.

"So what do you want me to do?" She asked. The interest was clear in her eyes, which caused him to don on one of his famous smirks. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a flat black rectangular gadget and placed it in front of her.

"For now, I just want you to continue studying. Now I don't mind teaching you a few things, but I'm only willing to go so far back. I'm not going to lie. My patience with people is very small, so I don't make the best teacher. This calculator will help check your answers after you finish a problem. I'll check in with you in a few days to see how you're progressing. If I'm impressed, I'll bring you further into my world."

Hermione picked up the heavy calculator. Well, it was heavier that those cheap calculators that were passed around as free gifts every time a company tried to promote something. It had so many buttons on it that it took her a while just to find the On button. The screen was big though. About the size of an ID card. During long nights of studying, it would be useful to see an entire equation before pushing the Enter button.

"But don't get too excited. You can't input entire calculus equations in, but at least this will do to minimize your room for mathematical errors." His voice remained even.

Was he always this apathetic? He just gave her the greatest gift that she had ever gotten, but he still treated it as if it wasn't a single drop of perspiration off his brow. However, as eager as she was to have a pretty advanced piece of technology in her hands, she couldn't shake the fact that it was coming from one of the most questionable person that she had come to know. This "gift" wasn't a gift at all. It was an investment to turn her over to his side and become another one of his pawns. Now which was the lesser of two evils, becoming a slave to the Ministry or becoming a slave to the Death Eaters?

"I can't accept this." She put the calculator back in front of him. He stared up at her with some bewilderment, but he didn't take back his calculator. Her independence meant a great deal to her and she wasn't going to surrender it to a man like Tom.

The clink of his lighter did little to cut the tension in between them now as they were completely quiet.

"My recent actions maybe rather selfish, but they will benefit you as well. But no pressure. I'll let come to me on your own volition. The offer will remain on the table for as long as it takes for you to come to your senses." He stood up with his cigarette dangling from his mouth. She had almost forgotten just how much taller he was. "If it helps, it's not worth being a law abiding citizen in a country that lacks a moral compass. Now I got to spend the rest of my afternoon running errands. You can come back here to resume your position as counter girl." He smiled.

It was a beautiful smile. Genuine, without the dark intent his smiles usually carried. She was confused now. Two weeks ago, he had said a handful of words to her, but now, he was trying to coerce her into choosing a different lifestyle. She didn't turn as he headed out the front door, but she had this urge to say something. What she wanted to say, she did not know, but her mind was fixated on him. Once he was gone, she felt a longing to be in his presence again. Deep down, she knew what a bastard he was, but he had now instantly become like a cigarette was to him. They were both detrimental to their health, yet that slight feeling of ecstasy made all that danger irrelevant.

* * *

**A/N:** And there my fellow readers is chapter 6. I'm no J.R.R. Tolkien where I can describe an enchanted tree for ten pages, but when it comes to dialogue, I can go on forever. I just have so much fun writing a conversation between two characters. I blame Quentin Tarantino for this. I've spent so many years watching his movies over and over again, that I find dialogue the most fascinating part in a story.

And I've also stepped up this crime story from a normal guns and gangster one to one that deals with a bit of technology and math. I've kind of grown fascinated with the subject now that I'm in college studying engineering. I'm still a novice to it, but I'll throw in a couple of trivial facts out from time to time to keep you guys interested (and doing some research before I write it in just to be careful). Besides, how can I not throw in some school stuff when my two main characters are some of the smartest characters in the Harry Potter universe?

Thanks again for reading! Until next time ;)


	7. The Weasel

**Author's notes:** Sorry that I keep on changing the summary, but now that the plot is starting to form, I feel that I can give you a less vague one that gives you more detail as to what is going to go down in this story.

I understand that this is an unusual fancic, so any feedback is immensely appreciated. Even the tiny ones let me know that I'm doing alright. I'm happy to answer any questions you may have that won't spoil the story.

Also, I've noticed that anonymous reviews have changed in the last month, so you guys will just be named as "guest", so I will be answering your reviews in the order that I got them.

**To Sammy: **I always love hearing back from your reviews! They always make me laugh.

**Guest 1:** I normally think of Tom as a suave, aristocratic looking guy most of the time, but my imagination started going wild while I was coming up with this story. Now Tom is all tatted up, but I don't intend to make him all mushy and what not. I prefer my Tom cold and distant.

**Guest 2:** I'm glad you don't mind the change. Harry and Dumbledore will have parts in this story, but they won't be anything major. Now as far as the Death Eaters go, I'll explain them little by little as the story continues to progress. I'm just doing it that way because this story is told mainly from Hermione's point of view, and she still doesn't know much about them, but I will get into detail with them soon.

**Warnings:** A few bad words, violence, and sprinkles of lime.

* * *

Chapter 7: The Weasel

_**July 5**__**th**__**, 8:37 PM**_

…_add a constant to the end of the equation…_

…_if given a limit you can solve for it…_

…_now the fundamental theorem is very important…_

Mr. Lupin was saying a lot of things, but Hermione wasn't paying attention to any of it. Every word that he spoke went in one ear and shot out the other. When they zipped past her brain, they just kept on going. Not a single bit of it was captured and stored away in her mental "cabinet of useful information". Was this information even useful anymore?

What did Tom do to her? He had pulled out of her "security bubble" and now made her question everything that she had ever believed in. For at least ten years, she had always thought that she would pass the NEWTs, go on to college, and then become someone who could make major reforms in the country. Then Tom had told her no such thing could ever happen. Non-elitists who made it in were silenced and never heard from again. Had the Ministry grown so bad that her only shot at a brighter future was to join a criminal organization? That was the dream Tom was selling her, but was it worth buying it?

This was a _HUGE_ decision. _ENORMOUS_. Tom sure made it sound like the only alternative, but on what grounds was his claim valid? She barely even knew him to begin with. What could she say about him, honestly? His name was Tom Riddle. He was tall, heavily tattooed, and smoked a _LOT_. And that was it. If someone asked her when he was born or what his interests were, all she could do is shrug her shoulders in ignorance. Had she not been so screwed up from alcohol that one night, she could've scoped out his flat while she was there. For all she knew, he could've been hiding a severed head in is freezer.

What a horrible thought, but was it totally absurd? Well…he did have the chance to take advantage of her that night, but he didn't. Her vomiting all over herself may've been the reason for that. Yet he still behaved like a gentleman by carrying her up a flight of stairs and then cleaning her up. Now he was trying to give her a calculator? It baffled her to no end why all of a sudden he was being so nice. Was this what the Big Bad Wolf was like before he ate Little Red Riding Hood?

The whole day, she kept on weighing her options. There was no skipping the main question of whether or not she should agree to Tom's proposal. If she did, that would mean she was still on the road to joining the Ministry, and now thanks to him, that idea scared her. His reasoning sounded legitimate, but what made the Death Eaters any safer? Based on the skimpy amount of information she had on them from some news reports in the early '90s, they were a pretty dangerous lot. She was too young to remember most of it, but she did recall incidents of home invasions and robberies that were linked to them. Since then, they've been able to maintain a low profile. What they had been up to recently, she had no clue. She could kill Tom for being the cause of all her new stress, but could he actually be _saving_ her?

"Woah…I've never seen your paper so clean before. Didn't feel like taking twenty pages worth of notes tonight?" Harry laughed as he walked over to her. Class must've been over for the night as the other students rose up and started moving around. Hermione felt like she had been awoken from some nightmare as she turned to look up to his viridian eyes. He was surprised to see her in such distress. Normally, she was the level-headed one while he was flipping out over something. All of a sudden, their typical roles were reversed.

"I guess you can say that. I've just been feeling so distracted lately." She sighed as she threw in her blank sheets of papers into her withered backpack.

She seriously was dying to speak to Tom again, but the bastard never came back from running his errands. For the first time since she started working there, she wondered what he did when he was on these "errands". Suspicious theories kept coming to mind. They ranged from him being a petty drug dealer to being a veteran contract killer. Which theory was closer to the bull's-eye?

She supposed she could've talked to Harry about her predicament. He was in the same boat as her after all. Both of them were taking Mr. Lupin's "special class" to better their futures. Not to mention, they were best friends.

"It must be pretty big if it's bothering you." Harry said as they were headed outside.

And just like any other night in South London, it was so dark that one could barely see across the street. The Ministry needed to take care of the several burnt out street lamps years ago, but they never did. In a peculiar way, it was like covering up the "nasty" part of London with a dark blanket to keep it the "elitists" from looking at it.

Hermione eyes were accustomed to this lack of light and led Harry to a block shy of Hogsmeade Park without saying more. She was supposed to meet Ron in a few minutes at the park, but she wasn't in the mood see him. He was a rich boy; his problems would never compare to hers. It wasn't his fault, but that was the way things were. She was really starting to like him, but was a future with him possible?

"You have no idea just how big, Harry." She sighed again as she took a seat on the stony curb.

"What do you mean?" Harry sat next to her.

"Do you just…just feel that all we're doing right now is for nothing?"

Harry looked at her more curiously. After all the work that they had put into their education, and now she was saying it was all pointless? He thought about what may have spurred this sudden skepticism in her.

"You know it's the only way were going to make it out of her 'Mione." Harry tried to reassure her, but it seemed like it fell on deaf ears.

"Maybe it's not. Maybe this is just what Grindelwald wants us to believe. How do we know once we join the Ministry that they won't just stick us with some meaningless work to keep us out of power? I mean, in all these years, you don't think there has been another mudblood that has tried what we're doing now?"

Beautiful. Now she sounded exactly like Tom. Harry then had the same look on his face that she had when Tom had shaken her of her last hopes. He couldn't find the answer and the two of them just listened to the buzzing sounds of the evening.

"Fuckin' Ministry bastards!" Harry cursed, breaking the silence. Never before had he felt like such an idiot. Why hadn't this possibility crossed his mind before? The Ministry had already been fucked up enough to pass such an unbelievably difficult University admissions exam that had way too small passing rate; why wouldn't they come up with even cruel more ideas to keep mudbloods down?

"Don't get too upset, Harry. I'm only hypothesizing."

"But it all makes so much sense. Remember that story Mr. Lupin had told us that the Ministry had restricted from the news; you know when Prime Minister Albus Dumbledore was assassinated in 1945? He led the country through World War II, yet Grindelwald still had the nerve to say he was a bad prime minister because he wasn't fixing the economy fast enough. Then all of a sudden, Dumbledore was shot twice in the back while he was out for an evening stroll. Grindelwald didn't hesitate to have him killed, so what's stopping him from killing anybody else that opposes his rule?"

Harry was fuming now. Whenever he had his mind set on something, he was always so passionate about. A stark contrast to Tom who would always speak in a calm manner regardless of the topic. That was until he _really_ lost his temper.

"Fuck Grindelwald. Motherfuckin' Nazi prick!" Harry cursed even more.

"Quiet Harry. If the police hear you, they'll kill you." Hermione tried to ease her friend, but it wasn't working.

"Well what else are we supposed to do? The one way we had out of here is most likely a trap door!"

"There may be another way." She was getting ready to tell him what was really troubling her.

"Like what? Where stuck between a rock and a motherfucking hard place! There's just no way out!"

The possible solution was ready to come out of her mouth, but loud sirens had cut her off. It was a terrible sound, yet this was the way the Ministry captured the public's attention for something "important". The penalty for being caught intentionally ignoring them was a night in jail.

"_Citizens of London, please tune in to your nearest radio or television set immediately! The Minister has an emergency state of union address!"_

"It's probably nothing good. It never is." Harry scoffed. Hermione hadn't seen him so bent out of shape since his parents were murdered.

"It really isn't." She had said almost in a whisper. There was no need to get worked up in the bleak situation as well. Was the Death Eaters the only answer?

Somebody was running quickly near them, but a flash of red helped her identify the boy.

"Ron! What's going on?" She asked as she stood up. Ron stopped dead in his tracks to see who had just spoken to him.

"Haven't you heard? There's a murderer is on the loose!" The redhead was out of breath, noticeably panicked. "Three policemen have been shot to death at Godric's Hollow! I just heard the news on my Walkman!"

Three policemen killed? The Ministry was going to cause a storm with this kind of news. Policemen were the true "Untouchables" in the nation. It didn't matter how many laws they broke because they would never arrest each other, and if one was harmed, they would have the backing of the Ministry.

"Godric's Hollow! That's my street!" Harry jumped up and started running off. What were cops doing on his street and what had they done to get shot? Was Sirius still okay?

"Harry, wait!" Hermione shouted, bolting after him.

Ron was still spooked, but he didn't like it one bit that the girl he was crushing on had been alone with another boy, a shorter bespeckeled boy, and would let her know about it once he caught up to them.

* * *

_**9:34 PM**_

The room had a familiar dank, humid atmosphere that Draco had experienced just a few nights ago. This had to be the place where Tony and them had brought him to spook him a little. Interestingly, even with no blindfold, the room was still rather gloomy. It sure didn't help that most of the Death Eaters smoked like chimneys and the place was underneath a convenience store. A few neon signs gave the place an eerie green glow and there was a sturdy mahogany pool table in the center. In a corner by the only real lamp down there was where the esteemed tattoo artist did his work.

"_So this is where Londoners get tattooed?"_ Draco asked in his head as he observed the 500 square-foot area from the top of a bar stool, a pool cue in hand. _"And it's also where the Death Eaters hang out. I've always thought there were more of them?"_

Because the place was so small, there was only four other occupants in the basement. Perhaps just the best of the best hung out here. That made Draco's thin mouth curl up a little. So was he on the right track?

"Your turn, Draco." Tony said.

He and Draco were playing as stripes while Barty and Greyback played solids. At this point, Barty and Greyback were winning. This was the first time Draco had ever played this game, so he wasn't too comfortable with the overly long stick. He needed to do good though. Little things like this could up his reputation in the gang. As he was adjusting himself for a shot, his eyes glanced over to Tom ever so slightly. He was smoking an oddly bumpy cigar with Myrtle, who was off tonight, in the corner. He was talking to her, but he couldn't make out was he was saying.

It sort of disappointed Draco that he didn't seem to hold his idol's attention, but if he wasn't any good at billiards, that was probably best.

Some droplets of sweat were starting to form at his brow as he prepared himself to dab the white ball across the green felt table. Then, he let his arm go, but the blasting sound towards the entrance caused him to shoot it in the wrong direction. The short and thick man running down the stairs ended up missing a stair and landed flat on his chest on the concrete floor.

"What the hell is the matter with you Pete, you fat bastard?" Tony walked over to Peter Pettigrew, the weakest member of the Death Eaters, with the cue stick in his hands.

"I-I-I-I…was just at G-Godric's Hollow." Peter struggled to pick himself up. "Th-th-eeese cops started g-giving me trouble." Peter was so out of breath he could barely speak. He wasn't use to running for twenty straight minutes. He could hardly make it a twelfth of a mile without gasping for air.

Tom rose from his chair and handed the funny cigar over to the half-naked girl. His tightly controlled walk was slightly off and he was somewhat slower. Nonetheless, Peter braced himself as if he was waiting to be stricken with the wrath of a god.

"What happened?" Tom asked in a raspy voice as he rubbed his bloodshot eyes.

"I met up with the guy who was going to buy the coke inside this parked car in a shady alleyway." Peter said with more air in his lungs. "Then all of a sudden, these pair of cops comes up to my window. I didn't have time to hide the stash of blow, so they started harassing me. Soon, I learned the bastard buying from me was a cop!"

"So what did you do?" Tom asked.

"I was scared, so I shot them all." Peter admitted.

"You idiot! Do you know what the Ministry is going to do when they find out about this?" Tony yelled. "Did anyone see you?"

"No! No one saw me! I didn't see anyone else on my way down here."

In hearing all this, Tom wasn't fazed at all. This was pretty bad news, but he no sign of anger showed on his face.

"I don't hear any police sirens, so I believe we're okay for the moment."

"Woo…" Peter exhaled, relieved. The last thing he wanted was a one way ticket to Azkaban Federal Prison.

"However," Tom continued, "this kind of reckless behavior cannot be overlooked."

"But Tom, it wasn't my fault." Peter's eyes grew.

"There were other ways out and you just chose the easiest one, which in the long run will prove to be the most detrimental."

Tom pulled out his .9mm. He loaded it up, but he didn't point it to Peter's temple.

"I'm sorry Tom. _Pleeeese_ don't kill me." Peter begged.

"Draco, come here." Tom ordered.

Draco did as he was ordered, but deeply fearing what he was about to be asked. Tom placed the cold piece of steel in his hands.

"Shoot him." He ordered Draco while lightly pointing to Peter. "Shoot him, or I'll have Barty shoot you."

* * *

_**9:41 PM**_

Godric's Hollow was a long run away. Several cop cars crowded the streets. Their flashing red and blue lights illuminated the dark neighborhood.

"What were you doing outside, sir? Did you hear the gunshots earlier?" A stocky blond cop asked. His uniform was the reminiscent of the Gestapo ones of Nazi Germany; same shade of grey, but with a more modern and practical twist. He pressed Sirius's face onto the hood of one of the police cars with four other cops surrounding him.

"It's not even 10 yet and it's a bloody Saturday. What's so suspicious about me being out right now?" Sirius had trouble speaking in this position.

"It was you who did it, wasn't it?" A thinner cop accused him.

"No! How many times do I have to tell you that?"

"Let's just take him. We've already looked around, and there's no one else."

"Sirius!" Harry ran up to the scene. Another burly cop grabbed him before he could get any closer to his godfather.

"Stay back boy or we'll take you down to Scotland Yard as well."

"He's innocent! My godfather would never hurt anybody. Not even you good-for-nothing cops!" Harry tried to break free from the big man's hold, but it was just as futile as a fly trying to pull itself off of a spider's web.

"What evidence do you have to prove he's guilty?" Hermione questioned once she caught up.

"We're the law. We just know." The thin cop answered.

"_You have to play just as dirty as them to get what you want."_ Hermione remembered one of Tom's quotes.

Justice wasn't blind. It was the people who administered it that were. In that case, these cops were just a couple of blind men shooting several rounds of bullets randomly into the streets. The saddest part was that they didn't care who they hurt, and the Ministry didn't care to correct them. Anytime there was a murder, someone was arrested right away. The media spinned it as the police doing their job in a timely manner, but in reality, they just pegged the crime on the first person they find. More specifically, the first mudblood they could find. They never cared to find the real culprit. They weren't going to waste their time helping the people they were taught to hate. Ironically, most cops came from humble beginnings, but as soon as they passed their physical examinations, they became even more prejudiced than purebloods. Now Sirius was going to suffer from their warped morals.

"Go home, Harry. You too, Hermione. I'll figure a way out of this." Sirius tried to reassure all of them. It was good to see in this nasty situation, he was still maintained his confidence.

* * *

The barrel of Tom's gun was pointed at Peter's face. Every second that ticked by, the atmosphere got thicker. Draco could barely breathe. How was he expected to kill someone? Just last night, he witnessed his first murder, and he was still learning to cope with it. Tom stood there just inches away, waiting for Draco to make the shot. He was getting annoyed that the latest prospect was proving to be quite worthless.

"If I do it in one quick motion like pulling off a band-aid, it may not be so bad." Draco told himself as he closed his eyes.

"_And Go!"_

No shot.

"_Now!"_

Still on shot.

"_**BLAM**_!"

* * *

**A/N:** Well there's a little cliffhanger for ya, but you regular readers know I've been doing good on updating, so you won't be waiting long. ;)

Catch you later.


	8. The Greater Good

**Author's notes:** So you think you have this story figured out? Think again.

**Warnings:** A few bad words, violence, and sprinkles of lime.

Please proceed to read. ^_^

* * *

Chapter 8: The "Greater Good"

_**9:43 PM**_

The shot was made and Peter was dead. A thin line of smoke was curling out of the barrel of the gun in Draco's hand. His eyes remained shut, fearing the horrific sight in front of him. Was Peter's brains splashed across the wall in front of him? Was he now a killer, too?

Inches away, Tom smirked at the sight. Up until that point, he wasn't too impressed by Tony's recommendation for a new Death Eater. Why would he? The boy had no recognizable talent and seemed a tad too iffy with the grit that came with the lifestyle. He saw him shaking in the corner when he put seven slugs in Bagman the night before. What was Draco expecting for gangsters to do? Have tea parties? There were plenty of things the boy still needed to go through before "getting mark", but possessing the ability to commit murder sure got him closer.

Interestingly, this little event made Tom reminisce about the first time he killed someone. So many years had passed since that faithful day. How old was he? Fifteen? Almost twelve years ago, yet the feeling he had as soon as he did it was fresh in his memory. It was sort of a vertigo experience because it first felt like it happened too slowly and then it would switch to something far more rapid. He felt like the bullet was traveling at five miles an hour until it hit its mark, but when the man fell back, it suddenly felt like he had missed the whole scene. Did he undergo that common process of regret and disgust after he realized what he had just done? No. His heart had been on freeze long before that time. He would actually break out laughing for several minutes. He felt as giddy as a schoolgirl who had just received her first kiss. What a rush it was! Anybody who got in his way could be eliminated from the earth at his will.

Draco still seemed he needed more work before he would reach that level, but at least he was on his way. Tom had always known he could influence people to do what he wanted, be it one way or another.

Five years ago, he had found this mousy little girl crying up a storm in the bathroom at a house party. She obviously didn't belong there. Somebody probably had just invited her to humiliate her further in front of a bigger, more obnoxious crowd. Tom initiated a small conversation with poor Myrtle just for the hell of it, and instantly, he could see that she was love-stricken. Few women could ever resist his charms. When she found out he worked at Borgin & Burkes, she started shopping there every day. At first, this annoyed him greatly, but he soon grew uniquely entertained by her. They'd flirt back and forth every time she came and it did well to lighten up his mood.

It was fun for a while, but it didn't last. Not so much because of her, but just where these little teases took place. Clueless girl at the store was an overused act. He soon thought of another surrounding that would spice things up again. Was she offended when he suggested that she go into exotic dancing? Very much so, yes. But Tom Riddle was smooth. He made stripping sound like **the** golden opportunity. Now his claims weren't entirely bullshit. She now made more money than somebody at an entry level position at the Ministry. Much more. Her hours weren't too bad either. It didn't take her long to get used to this career path and would soon move over into prostitution as well.

Oh yes, Tom was good. Hermione was proving to be his greatest challenge, but nothing he couldn't handle. It would take some extra work, but she would be worth it. To know someone with so much fire and an unlimited amount potential was refreshing and he wasn't going to let her get away. The ginger that she was seeing would only her hinder her capabilities. Tom could build her up. He had underestimated her value in the past. He knew better now. He was going to do everything in his power to make her his.

* * *

_**11:49 PM**_

Hermione was sitting by Tom Riddle's door. She'd been sitting out there for over an hour. A light rain started to fall. It was almost like mother earth had felt her pain as her world was falling apart.

After seeing Sirius being shoved away into a police car, she knew she had to do something. This was injustice! Sirius was an innocent man! A tad mischievous, but never had he done anything with malicious intent.

By herself, she could do nothing to the Ministry. If she showed any resistance, she knew she would be shot. Uprisings had occurred in the past, but they were all immediately silenced. Grindelwald invested a great deal in creating his "million man army" as well as the special task force, the Dementors, which were dedicated to protecting the Ministry. Even peaceful protests were struck down with showers of bullets. That was how Hermione lost her mother when she was nine.

The Death Eaters was her only option now. Tom seemed to have a plan and she wanted to hear it. If he had a plan to remove Grindelwald from power, she wanted to be a part of it.

She was so exhausted from this day of never-ending stress, but she wouldn't allow herself to fall asleep. Not until she had a solution. Too bad the man she wanted to speak to was still nowhere to be found. Was he even planning on coming back to his flat at all? She wasn't going to give up just yet. If she had to stay there all night, then so be it. Luckily, that didn't seem to be the case once she saw a familiar pair of heavy black boots coming closer to her.

"Granger, what a pleasant surprise." Tom smiled as he fished out his keys from the pocket of his navy blue jeans. How lovely that his latest interest had come to see him.

Hermione stood up, barely able to feel her sore legs. The concrete floor did nothing to help their blood flow.

"I need to speak with you." She said, almost like an order.

"At this hour? I'm awfully tired. Perhaps this can wait until tomorrow." He played around as if he wasn't intrigued.

"Tom, please!" She pleaded. His name had always irritated him in the past, but to hear her say it with such urgency him yearn. Her eyes screamed desperation. To have her in this vulnerable state and so close to his bed…no, business first.

"Oh, alright. Come on in." He opened his door and allowed her inside.

Hermione hoped now that she was sober, she would find something that would truly shock her, but his place was plain. Too plain. A few things would emphasize his punk lifestyle like a stereo system, a neatly stacked plethora of CDs, and an electric guitar. So far, nothing spectacular. His off-white walls had nothing hanging off them. Just paint.

"Take a seat. Make yourself at home. Just don't throw up on my carpet again." Tom smirked as he closed the door behind him.

Hermione paced over to his overly firm grey couch and took a seat at one of the corners. Tom took off his thick leather jacket before sinking down on the other half. She smelt something on him that was disgustingly familiar. Marijuana, was it? Its distinct scent caused her to speedily reevaluate her latest decision. He never denied that he was involved in "questionable dealings" and now she was given some more proof. Was she making the right decision after all?

"I see what I told you this morning has made some sort of impact on you." Tom said, indifferent as always. "Why else would you show up at my flat so late at night?"

He would turn his head a little more towards her to better analyze her. This girl once filled with resolve was sitting by him in fragments. Her eyes were red. Had she been crying before he showed up? It was evident that she was at her most helpless. Tom had come across many girls like this in the past and had manipulated them with ease to do what he wanted. However, he wasn't really anticipating on Hermione to come to him in this state. He did not want her like this. She would be useless to him without that wild drive that had pushed her every day. He needed to restore that hidden ferocity within her to make her an effective Death Eater. He sat up straighter to show he was serious before he continued.

"This isn't at all unexpected. The truth isn't always kind and easy, which is why humans continually lie. It's part of our nature. With that reasoning, you don't have any more reason to trust me. I honestly don't expect you to." Tom stated with a bizarre amount of ease.

"Then how are we supposed to work together?" Hermione eyed him squarely. Hazel met navy blue once again. That cold, deterring look was all too recognizable. It was unnerving, yet it made her strangely comfortable to see he wasn't putting up much of a ruse to fool her.

"You and I have a common enemy. Grindelwald, Ministry Officials, the police; all those corrupt bastards that maintain this dictatorship. Our ideals don't need to match up point for point for us to team up. The important part is that we have the same goal in mind. We would benefit by helping each other along the way."

"So you expect me to believe your gang, the Death Eaters, plans to take down the Ministry down? How? From what I've seen, crime further rots the city, not help it."

"Again, I reiterate, I don't expect you to believe anything." Tom sighed, but maintained his cool. "But you are seeing the right picture, just not the right message."

"Huh?" Her mind wiped out. Tom looked at her like a wise old man would at his novice pupil. At this stage, she was a blank slate, and he would need to bring her in slowly for her to understand his unorthodox methods.

"Grindelwald has built his entire campaign on strengthening the economy. Every reform he has passed, he claims is for "The Greater Good". They've all caused the working class to forfeit more and more of their rights, but as longs as the economy continued to flourish, there hasn't been enough unrest to start a revolution. It's only until recent times that his precious economy suffered a crack and people are pissed. He knows he's in trouble now. Crime isn't new to us, but now it's worse than ever. Why? Its Grindelwald's way to deal with 'mudbloods'; have them take out their frustrations on each other rather than on the Ministry. And this corrupt system has another purpose. With carefully planned propaganda, he could create fear around the nation, which could allow him to create even more reforms.

"It's terrible, but it helps him maintain is power. However, it is now that he is at his weakest. If things get so out of hand that he loses control, he could be knocked off his high horse with ease because his credibility would be destroyed."

"So the Death Eaters are increasing the crime rate for that purpose?" Hermione could see where this was going. Tom smiled, proud of his latest student.

"Correct. Grindelwald unintentionally created a double-edge sword with his armed forces by allowing them to become corrupt. They don't really care about Grindelwald's ideals. They only care about the power and prestige that comes with the job. You know most of those men come from working class backgrounds, but managed to pass the PET exams? All I have to do is flash some cash, and they let me import 'illicit' goods from the US on a regular basis. That includes all those pirated CDs and DVDs I have in the corner." Tom pointed a finger towards them, causing her to turn to see them. "I'm no saint and I do enjoy that I make big money doing what I do, but my long term objective remains to be removing our evil dictator from power."

Hermione turned back to him, staring at him as if she had never seen him before. For days already, she already suspected he did bad things. What was weird was that it could ultimately lead to something good. Teaming up with him was still a gigantic leap of faith (on the same level as hoping to survive a dive off the tip of the Eiffel Tower). They sat there in silence as she took some time to absorb everything that she had just learned tonight. Did she really want to be a part of this? Counterfeit goods were one thing, but what other illegal commodities was he bringing into the country? That awful smell crept up her nose again. He was probably importing drugs as well.

What a paradox it was hurting some of the working class now because it would be good for them later down the road. Well…retrospectively, Tom's black market goods were pretty much only hurting those who chose to use them. Hermione had known many people, who never held gun, never done drugs, and always went to school to learn. They may not always be happy, but for the most part they were safe. It was mainly other criminals that were hurt. Not that this sat much better with her. To her, all crime was despicable. But in desperate times…

"Could I still get that calculator?" She smiled softly at her small attempt at humor. Tom's grin made her pale cheeks pink up.

"Of course, Miss Granger. Whatever you need, I can get it for you."

Jackpot.


	9. The Monopolist

**Author's notes:** Sorry about ending my streak of updating every week. I've been really distracted lately (more TV, less reading), so shame on me. Nevertheless, I have updated. Enjoy! :D

**2lazy2login:** Here's a long chapter. At least long by my standards. Hope you like!

**Warnings:** A few bad words, violence, and sprinkles of lime.

Happy Reading! ^_^

* * *

Chapter 9: The Monopolist

_**July 6th; 8:02 AM**_

Lucius Malfoy woke up around 8 o'clock every morning. On the weekends, he would allow himself a few extra minutes to lie on his 1000-count Egyptian cotton sheets that stretched over his plush king-sized bed. He would rise up slowly, but when he finally did, he would pace over to his marble-tiled bathroom to wash up over his pristine porcelain sink and tie back his long white blond hair. Then he would proceed over to his extensive wardrobe filled with designer Italian silk suits. It was the only fabric that felt right on his delicate skin. Once he put one on, he would head down to his breakfast table which was situated perfectly by a large window that gave him a breath-taking view of his luscious botanical garden. His servant Dobby was always prompt with bringing him his coffee and muffin. He knew better than to keep his master waiting.

Only the best for the second richest man in all of Great Britain (the first being the great and powerful Minister). His grandfather Brutus Malfoy would be proud to see how well his family had recovered after nearly losing his fortune during the war. A proud follower of Grindelwald from the start, and had published the infamous _"Wealthy at War"_ pamphlet to gain further support for the rising dictator.

"_The fighting may have ceased, but the war is a far cry from over. Buildings have been reduced to mere pebbles, and as much as it pains me to say it, our economy has been reduced to much less. Gentle hands must be used to bring her up from her miserable condition. A job only the best and brightest of our nation are qualified for. Should the reckless or the unwise be placed with such a great responsibility, what is left of ailing Britain will be no more. Her care should be placed in the hands of experienced gentlemen. We should not gamble with "no-names", but rather, we should depend on the elite classes who have spawned generations and generations of worldly leaders. All the others should do their part, and become devoted followers of a strong voice. Only then can Great Britain rise again!"_

_**-Brutus Malfoy, 1945**_

Malfoy Enterprises has done well abiding by this philosophy and would grow to become one of the largest firms in the world; a conglomeration of smaller businesses which include consumer electronics, beauty products, clothes, plastics, food, television, transportation, and the list just went on. Many citizens of Great Britain were under his control. However, anytime a position of power was open, Malfoy was **very** selective of who he chose to fill it. NEWT scores were pulled as well as personal record and a credit report. Should there be anything "unpleasant" found, one could kiss a promising future good-bye. Not much was accomplished being stuck in the assembly lines. The annual revenue of the Malfoy's "Beast" was usually around 14 billion pounds. Would they have done this well by having too many "mudbloods" employed in worthwhile positions?

Lucius had just begun reading the latest edition of _The Daily Prophet_ when his son Draco would join him and his wife for breakfast. The boy looked positively ghastly! His blond hair was uncombed, grey eyes were puffy, and he just smelled _unclean_. Now the Malfoy home didn't come with a constitution or any form of written rules, but it had always been known that each of its members was to be ready for the day by the time they left their rooms. Draco typically followed this routine without an issue. For him to look like this reminded Lucius of "those" kind of people.

"Are you feeling ill, Draco?" Narcissa asked the boy. Her son was the most important to her. She stroked his pale hand with worry. People had always insisted he was the spitting image of his father, but his mother always insisted he looked like her. Honestly, who could tell? All the Malfoys were incredibly blond, light-skinned. Very blue-blooded.

"No, mother." He answered with a surly tone, pulling his hand away.

"Are you sure? I can send Dobby to the apothecary to get you some medicine."

"Yes, mother. I'm sure." He reassured, yet his tone didn't change.

Draco started to regret leaving his room, but he had to get out of there. It was so quiet and empty. Nothing there to distract him from his thoughts. His room was twice the size of a typical London flat, but throughout the night, he felt the walls closing in on him. Around three in the morning, he would put his headphones tightly over his ears and put his Walkman on blast. Didn't help. He tried to watch a movie at four. Didn't help either. Two nights had passed since he last had a good-night's rest. Were those nights over?

He tried hard not to look at Peter after he had pulled the trigger, but it couldn't be avoided. It's not like those men rushed to clean up the scene as soon as it had happened. Blood stains were still on the concrete even after Tony and Greyback took the stiff away. It was official now; he was a murderer. They all patted him on the back for such an "achievement", but Draco couldn't feel any sense of pride for it. What good was there to ending somebody's life? Pettigrew now only existed in memory. If that. Once Tony and Grey back returned, all resumed their night as if they had simply gone out for a walk. There was still jokes and laughter. Murder was a part of their everyday lives, wasn't it?

"_People die all the time. It's not a big deal."_ Draco reminded himself constantly. _"I doubt anyone misses Peter anyways. He looked so pathetic."_

"Hmm…tomorrow is the trial of Sirius Black." Lucius stated without taking his eyes off the newspaper. He hadn't forgotten his son's atrocious appearance, but overlooked it, disregarding it as "teenage behavior".

"What a disgrace to the Black family. First he runs away to live among the mudbloods and now he is a deranged murderer." Narcissa's nose scrunched up in distaste.

"Well soon he'll be hanged. I don't even see why the Ministry is wasting their time prosecuting him. We all know what decision the judge will make."

Draco's ears perked up for the small conversation between his parents.

"_Sirius Black didn't kill them. Peter did."_ Draco said in his head.

He didn't know much about his second-cousin other he was the biggest embarrassment to the Black family ever. As such, his existence continued unacknowledged, as if he was never born. Draco could speak up, but that would just be stupid. Only the Death Eaters who were there at the tattoo parlor that night knew the truth. Not to mention he killed the real culprit. Nope…any confession was suicide.

As his parents continued speaking casually on the matter, he sat in his seat without saying a word whilst eating his blood pudding.

* * *

_**10:04 AM**_

"_Why yer reading, Tom? Think yer ever gonna become something?" A copy of _Wuthering Heights_ was torn from his hand by that heavy-set boy, Horton. Ignorant prick made no effort to speak English correctly. "Yer such a queer!"_

"_I'm not queer!" Tom yelled throwing a punch, but did nothing to this fat punk._

"_Readin' a romance book. That's pretty queer." Horton reminded him._

"_It's more than that, you twats!" Tom argued._

"_Eww…and we share a room with him. I bet he wanks off while we're sleeping." David, Horton's thinner friend, said._

"_Is that true, nancy boy? Ya like lookin' at us while we sleep?" Horton walked closer to him, the much smaller boy._

"_No! I told you I'm not gay!" Tom was livid. He raised his hands over his face, well aware of what was coming next. This was becoming almost an everyday occurrence. Sometimes even twice a day._

_Those two boys left him bleeding and bruised on the ground a few minutes later. Both made sure to leave a parting gift of thick yellow globs of mucus shot from their filthy mouths._

"Fuck." Tom exhaled as he sat up in his bed.

Why the hell did he still have these nightmares? Both Horton and David were long dead. Well, Horton might as well be dead. He became a heroin addict soon after leaving the orphanage and would become one of Tom's best customers. A walking corpse, he was nowadays.

Tom reached over to his bedside drawer and fished out one of his guns. His first and favorite gun. A Gregorivich manufactured .357 Magnum Glock pistol. A single shot from it can tear apart a bowling pin. The day he got it was one of the best days of his life. It sure changed everything for him. Puberty had been more than fair to him; he grew up to be over six feet tall and built muscle with little effort. He did well in fights. Broke a man's jaw once. Sadly, he wasn't always the winner. But then he found this gun. Terror flashed in peoples' eyes whenever they caught a glimpse of it. His fists never garnered such a reaction. Guns were deadlier and quite easy to master. With the Ollivander Sniper Rifle hidden beneath his bed, he could shoot a target 100 yards away.

What did he have to be afraid of anymore? He had grown to be the richest crime boss in all of Great Britain. It wasn't necessarily an open secret, but people knew enough about him to know he was to be approached with caution. A person seriously had to keep their nose squeaky clean not to even know his name. Someone like Granger. It was going to be massive fun taking her under his wing, showing her the ropes of the black market, and turning her into a Class A criminal. She was an empty vessel, ready to take in the teachings from the wisest man he knew; Him.

His eyes swerved over to his alarm clock. 10:09 AM; not a bad time to start the day.

The same as every morning, he started it with a cold shower. Sundays remained his "sacred" day of the week. Nothing religious; just the one day of the week where he took a break. Work was still done on this day, but more leisurely than usual. As a result, he simply slipped on a pair of gym shorts.

On his way to the common area of his flat, he caught a whiff of something delicious. Eggs and bacon? The first thing that came into his view was his couch. The green fleece blanket he had lent out was neatly folded and laid on the armrest. Two steps later, he saw Hermione standing over his stove in the shorts and tank top that he lent her. It was very late when they had finished talking, and he had told her it would be better if she stayed the night. No telling what wicked minds were roaming the streets at that hour, and quite frankly, he didn't have the energy to walk her home.

"Morning." He greeted impassively as he walked over to his coffee maker. Caffeine no longer had any effect on him, but he liked the sweet bitterness of the drink.

"Oh, hi." Hermione was a little surprise by his abrupt presence. For such a strapping man, he stepped very quietly. "I hope you don't mind me using your food, but I'm dreadfully hungry. And broke."

"Not at all." He filled the coffee filter with grounded beans. "You make some extra for me?"

"Of course. It would be rude if I didn't."

"Thanks. It would be a nice change eating home cooked food for once." Water was poured into the back of the machine.

"Eat out often?" She took the fried eggs from the pan and placed them on a small plate.

"Do you see me cooking? I only have that stuff in there just because." He pressed the 'Brew now' button.

"People are always surprising." She smiled. "Just look at us now. Two weeks ago, we didn't speak two words to each other, and now I'm here wearing your clothes."

Tom laughed internally. Oh yes, how things have changed dramatically. Never before had he had company in this manner. Much less would he lend them his clothes. Her small form pulled them off surprisingly well. He stole a few glances of his wife-beater tightly hugging her curves. The weird was that he didn't care to know her when she had first walked into the pawn shop. All the previous "extra-help" had been forgettable. His experiment of taking her out for drinks made her the contrary. He'd been around drunken girls before, but she was the first who didn't make sexual advances towards him. It was a neat change from that to just two "mates" having a good time.

Then came their first political debate. She was obviously well read, yet woefully ignorant on the real world. Not her fault. Every strand of her moral fiber appeared to be intact which meant that her parents worked very hard to keep her away from the overwhelmingly amount of crime that plagued the city. A good and bad decision at the same time. Reality would take a huge bite out of her without his guidance. This was the first time in his life that he had met someone that could match him intellectually. He looked forward to bringing her up close to his speed (making them even would be a real feat).

"I spend most of my time out anyways. Street food works better for me." He responded after his quick reflection.

Her food did look wildly appetizing. The eggs were neat and the bacon was neither burnt or fleshy looking. He poured his coffee into his "Stud Muffin" mug (a gag gift from Myrtle) and put some sprinkles of sugar into it. No milk. The two of them would take a seat on the couch and eat off the coffee table. No dining table in his flat.

Outside the kitchenette, away from the stove, was colder. Hermione hadn't noticed the chilly climate until now that she was dressed down. The blanket she used to cover herself was thick enough to protect her from the freezing air that blew from the vents, but now her skin was exposed. Once the goosebumps started popping up all over her pale skin, she began to wish she had put her bra back on as soon as she had woken up. Her chest area felt so exposed, but Tom wasn't staring. If anything, she was the one staring at him. His torso was so well-chiseled, as if Michael Angelo had a hand in his creation. He was so perfect, but the real eye-grabber was his many grey tattoos. They were all so gruesome (skulls, snakes, thorns, knives, the works) yet the amount of detail that went into them strangely made them appealing. Dark yet beautiful, much like the man who wore them.

Interesting how the cold climate didn't affect him. His skin looked as smooth as napa leather.

"Did you just wake up?" He asked as he popped the yolk of his eggs.

"No. I woke up around 8. I took advantage of you enormous TV. How did you even get that behemoth up the stairs?" She asked, taking a bite of her bacon.

"Simple; I hired some muscle-bound fatheads to bring it up for me."

They both held any further comments as they continued to eat. It really was good.

"I know it's impolite to ask, but I just have to ask how much money you make doing what you do? I mean the 'secret' stuff you do." She took a break from her constant munching.

"More than enough to get by. It would be difficult to give you a number."

"Then take an educated guess. I'm going to be working for you, no? I want to see how much I'm entitled to."

The color in Tom's eyes further solidified. It peeved him to have someone question him, for any reason, but if she truly was what he thought her to be, then questions were an essential part to the learning process.

"I'm not as stingy as Burke. Don't worry about me skimping you on your cut. You'll get every cent you deserve." He kept his voice leveled.

"Whatever." She dismissed. "What I've really have been wondering is 'What are you going to do once the Ministry collapses?' Your plan makes sense, but what will happen to the Death Eaters afterwards?"

Tom placed his fork down and swallowed his food before he answered.

"The Death Eaters don't have me worried at all. I'll simply place them into my reformed police force and military. As for my plans for the government, I have no solid answer. We really do have a daunting task ahead of us. Not only do we have to make changes to the Ministry, but we need to change the people themselves; their way of thinking. As I said before, not everyone wants change, or at least have been trained not to want it."

"I guess we're lucky we're both young." She shrugged.

"You maybe. I've already have a few hard miles on me." He smirked.

"Yeah? Exactly how old are you? I've never had the chance to ask."

"Twenty-seven. I'll be twenty-eight in the winter."

Hermione studied his face for a while. She already guessed he was older, but something closer to her. He didn't look so bad (not at all), especially in the rare instances that he smiled. His face looked so soft and it was clear to her that he worked out. So yes, she did find him attractive, but after hearing his age, she felt even guiltier for feeling this way.

"You should cut down, or God forbid quit, smoking. You'll live longer." She advised. There was pack of cigarettes and ashtray (with two butts already laying in it) just inches away from her plate. She could just smell the dirty ash. Why he chose to voluntarily inhale poison, she couldn't imagine.

"I have no doubt that that's true. However, I enjoy the effect nicotine has on me. It soothes my nerves after stressful situations. Makes it easier for me to reflect and reorganize my thoughts. I'm sure you would see the benefits if you gave it a try." He bit into his last strip of bacon.

"I'll pass." She said coolly.

Tom put his fork down on his plate once he finished eating. He stood up, towering a few feet over her, who was still sitting.

"I hope you don't have any prior engagements for the day. I have something I would like to show you."

Hermione was still chewing on a piece of egg as she tilted her head to look up to his face. Her face was blank as she had no clue as to what he was speaking about. As for prior engagements, she normally spent her Sundays reading or studying. Things were different now. Supremely different. As she now saw it, her free time would be best spent with her new mentor.

After she swallowed her food, he led her to his bedroom. The whole, short walk there, she wasn't sure what to expect. Certainly, she didn't expect to walk into an apocalyptic nightmare where machines had taken over the world. Well, that was the impression she had gotten from his room. Yards and yards of multicolored cables lined the walls and heavy pieces of hardware took up most of the floor space. Many of them had blinking green and yellow lights to show they were in operation. Only a thin trail of carpet could be seen that led to his twin-sized (unmade) bed. Tom made it there with ease, but she took more precaution to avoid tripping over something. The goosebumps had receded back into her skin by the time she took a seat right next to him. This room had **normal** temperature. Her leg brushed up against his for a brief second. An interesting sensation ran up her body because of the contact, but he seemed not to notice it at all.

"So what do you think of my computer?" He asked casually.

"This is a computer?" She was stunned. Her knowledge on the subject was limited, but she had pretty much understood a computer as being a monitor, a keyboard, a mouse, and a big box called a CPU. His 'computer' was nowhere near as simple as that picture.

"I can tell you of all its capabilities, but I'm sure most of it would sound like a foreign language at this point. By the way, sorry about the icy weather in here. I have to keep these things at a stable temperature to maximize their performances."

He pushed a button on one of the large blinking boxes, causing the rest of the computer to hum a little more loudly and all six monitors switched on.

"What I can tell you is how reliant humans have become on these machines. Well, all electronics in general." He picked up the off-white keyboard and began punching in several of the buttons as he stared into one of the monitors. "Take the calculator I tried to give you the other day. It can do long division in less than a second while it would take you a few seconds."

That statement hurt. It was true, and she knew very well it was true, but for him to very blatantly point it out was like him kicking her in the knee. _How fast can _you_ do long division?_ She thought just as smugly.

"Bottom line is that electronics are more efficient and help people do their jobs much faster. Some electronics have made some jobs obsolete. If you go to any factory in Britain, you'll find several machines that are doing the work that previously was done by humans. As you already know, this has been a real blow to the working class in recent years."

Hermione thought about her father who worked in a factory. He was a security guard, but Mr. Granger had said good-bye to numerous coworkers because of the hundreds of new cameras Malfoy had installed in all of his factories. No more than five guards were to occupy the same shift. It had become a boring and tedious job with few to speak to, but it at least paid for the rent.

"Also, computers make it easier to maintain information. Imagine a row of tall filling cabinets, stuffed fat with thick files. All those files can be neatly stored into a database. Using a search engine, you can easily pull whatever file you need. No mess, no paper cuts."

"That all sounds simple enough. Why are you pressuring me to learn calculus?" She asked.

"I'm just easing you in." He smiled slyly. He did some more typing on the keyboard and reached for the mouse a few times before he went further. "Writing computer code, the DNA of a computer, uses a lot of math. A standard computer with the most basic capabilities still requires tens of millions, lines of code. I did start out with one of those, but I wanted to do so much more with it."

Hermione took another hard look at Tom's "computer". For it to be so large and complex, what was he planning on doing with it; start a nuclear war? At least that's what some evil geniuses have done in movies that she had seen with Harry at his flat.

"I'll give you a preview on just what I have equipped it to do. Maybe that will spark your interest in computer science and motivate you to work harder. Take a look." He pointed a long finger towards one of the screens. Her hazel eyes followed it.

What she saw was a bunch of pictures of men in uniform next to a bunch of words.

"Recognize any of these cunts?" He asked her, prompting her to look again.

"They're men from the State Police." She said as soon as she saw a picture of the buff cop that had slammed Sirius against his car the night before. Anger flared inside her once again.

"Yes, they are. I believe in the philosophy that you should keep your enemy's close." Tom said in a low voice. It was softly spoken, laced with poison. "I told you I work with some of these men to bring in American goods, and I learn a few things about them, but it's very vague.

"Mudbloods, the working class, whatever you want to call them, have limited access to technology, so here in South London, we haven't really noticed the new era. The era where humans are growing ever more dependent on technology. The Ministry, though, has been using computers extensively to maintain their databases. They have created many of them to keep tabs on every citizen in the country. Here, for example, is the one for the State Police. Everything I need to know about them is right here; who is an officer, what is their rank, their work schedule, routes, apprehension records, everything. Access to this database keeps me several steps ahead."

"And anyone with a computer could just look this up?" Hermione asked. What she and other "poor folk" could do if they knew all these things. Tom shook his head at this question.

"Oh no. This is one area where things become rather complicated. This is highly sensitive information. It would be detrimental if it was publically accessible. Their databases are stored on a network file so they can be accessed from many computers in different locations, but access to them is very restrictive. Only authorized personnel are given the credentials to view them. But there are ways around this. It isn't easy, but then again, it isn't impossible."

"And you used math to figure out?" She asked another question, her interest growing even more.

"Yes and no. Math does speed things along, but you see, once you've become familiar with computers, the internet, and how they work, messing with them becomes second nature. Like walking, you don't think about it much once you know how to do it. There are still databases that I have yet to hack into, but I'm not completely in the dark like I was ten years ago. I have an idea on how to approach them, but there isn't room for mistakes. If I'm caught snooping around, there's not a doubt in my mind that I'll be hanged."

A painfully icy sensation ran through Hermione's spine as she heard the word "hang". She knew getting involved in Tom's world be risky, yet realizing that a public execution was very possible if they were caught scared her stiff. Again, her eyes met with Tom's. As usual, they were cold and flooded with confidence. Not shaken at all.

"I've been a career criminal for many many years. Granted, that alone doesn't matter much in this hell pit we've been living in, but I've managed to get by without a single bullet wound or a stint in Azkaban." He smiled arrogantly, but Hermione knew he was trying to calm her down. It did work a tad. "Besides, I plan on divulging my greatest guarded secrets to you. I wouldn't dream of letting you fall in harm's way."

"By why me? If you're so confident that you already have all the answers to bringing down the Ministry, why bring me along?" She backed up a few inches. Still, he had to look down at her to look at her face.

"Why did Mr. Burke hire me to be a shop boy over a decade ago? He is a great salesman and I knew very little about the business, but I learned. I expanded his clientele and profits tenfold. Now I want to teach you about computer hacking. I can do all this work on my own, but I can get more done faster with a partner. If I'm right about you, you should catch on quickly. I trust that you're still interested?"

How can she say 'no' now? She already felt he shared too much already. Tom sure didn't seem the type who looked the other way. But did she really want to anymore? At that moment, she couldn't tell what she was feeling. It was almost like she was lost in a dark cave. Tom was offering to guide her out, and now, he was the only one doing so. Where she would end up, there was no telling. But then again, what else was she supposed to do? She had no ideas of her own. Where even to begin? Tom had made it clear that he had been working on his scheme for several years. Whatever went through his mind as he came up with all these convoluted schemes, she could never guess. However, fifty-two years under a psychopathic ruler was long enough. She needed to act now.

"Yes, I'm still interested." She mustered up what was left of her spunk to show him she was ready to learn. He didn't return the gesture with one of his signature smirks like she was expecting. Instead, he looked at her oddly. Blankly, but not quite.

"Good." He nodded in approval. He stood up and walked over to his closet. The door could barely be opened thanks to the many machines in front of it. Still, his hand was able to go in. He pulled out three textbooks. All of them still looked much lighter than that mammoth book Mr. Lupin had lent her to study calculus. He walked back over to her and placed them right by her lap.

"Take a look at these books. I don't expect you to become a computer whizz overnight, but perhaps you'll get a better picture. Forgive all my chicken-scratch inside, but maybe it'll break a few things down for you. Study well." He winked, making her blush lightly.

"Thanks." She picked one of them up. Skimming through its pages, she saw what he meant about "chicken-scratch". He wrote many things on the margins. It was neatly written, but cluttered.

"Oh, yeah…I have somewhere I needed to be an hour ago, so if you want, I'll walk you home now."

For some reason she couldn't understand, it made her blue to hear that. She was unconsciously beginning to enjoy being in his presence. Then again, her father was probably home worried sick about her not being there. His graveyard shift ended at five in the morning. No reasonable excuse came to mind about her being out and about that time of day. Telling him that she was at the house of a man she hardly knew was out of the question.

"That'll be great." She smiled weakly. A few more minutes of being around him no longer sounded so bad anymore.

* * *

And there's Chapter 9

**Notes from me, The Author**: Yes, my dear readers, I have made Tom into a computer nerd. I haven't decided yet on how much detail I will be going into about computers in future chapters. I'm no computer science major, or tech savvy really, but I have learned a thing or two from friends that are. And I learned even more working in an IT department. I'll try to be as clear as possible on the subject. I know when I first started learning networking stuff; I was like, "What?" If any of you have questions, please ask. I will answer your questions to the best of my ability.

And for some reason as I wrote the second half of this story, I couldn't help but think of **The Matrix**. Not for the obvious reason, but for that scene where Morpheus gives Neo the choice between the red pill and the blue pill. I've now gained the sudden urge to see that movie again…

Anyways, I just want to say "I look forward to your feedback".

Until Chapter 10! ^_^


	10. The Bounty

**Author's notes:** So I crashed and burned on updating every week. Sorry about that. I really am. All I have to say is that being an adult sucks. Anyways, here's Chapter 10. Hope you enjoy!

**Replies to anons:**

**Deidre:** What will Tom do to good ol' Hermione? We will see soon.

**Vitamins:** I didn't get the blank review, but thanks for making sure I got one from you. Sorry if this story drags a bit, but I want to make sure I fully develop these characters. And I think my version of Tom is sexy as hell too. Thank you so much for being a fan!

**Warnings:** A few bad words, violence, and sprinkles of lime.

Happy Reading! ^_^

* * *

Chapter 10: The Bounty

_**July7th; 8:34 AM**_

The viper was done in black ink, with incredible detail. It seemed like it would spring out of the soft white skin that it rested on. Hermione wanted to trace this work of art with the tip of her pinkie, but how would Tom react to touch? As tempted as she was to do so, she knew better than to try. She then scoffed at herself for even letting the thought cross her mind. How could she be turning into such a fan-girl? From the dark days of puberty, she attempted to look past someone's exterior and go straight for their personality. Usually, she succeeded. But this man…

Throwing down her inhibitions, she put more than a pinkie on his back. Her entire hand ran down the long snake. Tom turned his head to look down towards her face. Shocked, yet he didn't move. His back was still towards her and her hands were slowly making their way to the front of his body, feeling his toned chest and core. She could smell cigarette smoke as she brought herself closer and closer to him. A smell that would have normally made her cringe. So many chemicals laced with carbon monoxide, yet she didn't hesitate to bring her nose towards his neck. Gradually, she breathed in his scent, savoring it a little at a time.

Funny how dreams worked. One minute she was back in his bedroom, getting hot and heavy on his bed. Then the next, she found herself in her own room, lying uncomfortably on the floor. Textbooks and paper surrounded her. Not the first time she pulled an all-nighter to study. Nor was it a first to suddenly pass out in mid-morning while doing it. What _was_ a first was having a wet dream. She thought she was above these overcharged, teenage hormonal urges. Blood rushed up to her cheeks as if she was caught in the act of doing something unspeakable, but there was no one else. No one at all. If anything, she was scolding herself for allowing such images to flash through her mind. Much more because they were of Tom Riddle. She told herself that they had only become allies for the good of the nation. Nothing more, nothing less.

Time to flush another embarrassing moment down the drain and focus on something else. Her reddened, hazel eyes looked for her alarm clock. **8:41 A.M**. She gasped as she clumsily rose up from the floor. In nineteen minutes, the trial of Sirius Black would begin, and she had promised herself she would be there. She scrambled around the tiny apartment to wash up and get dressed. Hair was tied back in a bun in a matter of seconds. A blouse and pair of khaki-colored slacks was good enough.

**8:52 A.M.** No way in hell was she going to make it to the Courthouse downtown by **9**. She ran the streets as if she could. Luckily, her flats stayed snug on her feet. Halfway there, however, the lengthy distance wasn't the only issue. The more urban part of London had more people out and about than usual. Once she realized why, it no longer surprised her, but she wished she had made a much bigger effort to wake up earlier.

Usually, there was a pretty big turnout for criminal cases. It was like the country held much interest to see justice being served. That single thought caused Hermione to snort. She knew that hadn't been so for years. Maybe there were a few people like that, such as herself, but she knew the vast majority showed up for the "big show".

Really there wasn't much to do under a totalitarian regime. At least anything fun or legal. Football was one of the few pastimes that hadn't been banned, and if fact, was encouraged. The Minister even sponsored quite a few teams in the league, and almost never lost a game. Still, it wasn't easy to get tickets to matches. Not even to gain admission to the nosebleed sections. Public trials were like a football match in many ways. There was the prosecution and defense going back and forth and the judge acted like a referee to decide who was right. For those found guilty of Class III Felonies, their execution was like the winning goal. Best of all, the spectacle was entirely free and everyone was welcome to come, regardless of social standing. Brought in a lot of people. A lot. Far too many. And very few of them would know anything at all about the defendant. Definitely, Sirius didn't know, or had even met, over half of the population of London. This was nothing new. It was like the poor got a kick seeing someone's luck was worse than their own. They wouldn't even turn when a person's neck bent at an odd angle once dropped from the gallows.

Hermione grew frustrated as she shoved through the crowd as far down as possible. There was no way she would be able to get inside the Courthouse. The option of getting into the Courtroom wasn't even a question anymore. That was like the press box at a stadium. Harry was probably in there. He hadn't been able to sleep ever since they had taken his godfather away so he could've gotten a seat early before they got filled with blood-thirsty ingrates.

"What's taking so long? The judge never takes this long to make her decision. I have money riding that this bloke's head'll pop off when he drops." Hermione heard one of the bystanders say.

"Umbridge sometimes likes to create suspense. Like she's gonna let the bloke go, then she sends 'im up for a hangin'. Twisted bitch." His friend said.

From where she was standing, the courthouse was barely visible above all the people's heads. Gallows stood nice and tall though. So disturbing, and she felt she was the only one who saw what was wrong with that. The crowd was strangely quiet. A few whispers here and there, but people were so anxious to hear what was going on inside that they refrained from raising their voices.

It was also an odd sight to Hermione how easily the working class could be rounded up like cattle. And for trivial reasons, too. With each passing second, the decision to team up with Tom felt more right. Grindelwald was weak at one point, but he was able to gain support by manipulating the people. He gave them the illusion that he wanted to give them what they wanted. He had gotten them to hunger for public executions. Old Britain couldn't have been like this. In reality, his own interests were the most important to him.

Tom was doing the same thing too, wasn't he? She already had her suspicions and he made no attempt to hide his self-interest. Her justifications for agreeing to his proposal had been going around in her head persistently, and once again, they came up as she stood anonymously within the crowd. Grindelwald needed to be removed from power and it seemed that Tom was the only man with enough determination and resources to do it. She would help as much as she could, but while never taking an eye off of him. A watchful eye. She refused to let herself be filled with lust for him. _That dream never happened,_ she reaffirmed.

She looked back at the other people when she noticed them shift from their still state. Something was up. Men in gray uniforms were marching out from the police station, brandishing long rifles. The looks in the publics' faces seemed like they wanted to run, but wouldn't dare to with those kind of weapons in plain view. Finally, the low-volume period ended with the wailing of the sirens within the city.

"_Citizens of London, this is an emergency broadcast to alert you to be on the lookout for fugitive Sirius Black. Policemen will be doing their duty to search for him. They will do all that is necessary to ensure Black is brought back to justice. Please cooperate with them as they do it for your benefit. A bounty for one million pounds will be awarded to he who turns him in. A stiff penalty to those who try to shelter him. That is all for now."_

Sirius is a fugitive? How was he able to escape from the city jail? Sure it wasn't nearly a fifth as secured as Azkaban Prison, but it was unheard of before that anyone had successfully escaped from it. Hermione wanted to look for Harry to see if he knew anything, but the crowd was still thick. She'd probably be standing there for at least another hour before the police finished searching every single person there. And a bounty? That has truly never happened in the past. The Ministry never felt any obligation to compensate the public with money for any good deeds. Besides, it was not like Sirius was dangerous. A single policeman was a bigger threat. The men who were "protecting" the peoples' freedom. Now he was being portrayed as being some deranged mass-murderer. What was the Ministry thinking? Was Grindelwald suffering from early onset Alzheimer's?

To create more hysteria, helicopters cut into the sky above. Things had gone from completely ridiculous to outright insanity. Never before had she felt so much shame for her country than she did now.

* * *

_**9:12 A.M.**_

Tom was mildly disappointed that Hermione hadn't shown up today, although, not surprised. He knew what was going on this morning. If he went downtown, he knew he would spot the curly-headed girl in front of the courthouse. She seemed very loyal to anyone she considered the friend and wouldn't dare to miss when one of them was brought before that toad-looking judge, Dolores Umbridge.

He wondered what it would be like when she would consider him a friend. He never felt the need for them before. People always felt like pests to him. Like cockroaches that needed to be stomped on. Myrtle was the first person he didn't mind talking to, mostly because she didn't give a shit about anything. Never complained, and lived life practically stress-free. Their conversations were only to pass the time when there was nothing else to do. In that respect, Hermione was different. She had a lot to say about all the things wrong in this country, but at least she had a clue why, and did more than simply talk trash. Finally, he had met someone that could provide to be stimulating intellectually on an island filled with idiots. He wanted to go over what she thought about his books, even if she didn't understand a word, but she had to have formed some sort of an opinion. The first time he ever cared to hear one.

"Damn Granger. That girl hasn't even been here a month and she's already skipping work." Mr. Burke complained from behind the counter. As soon as he had dealt with the budget for his business, he resumed usual spot, complete with a newspaper in his hands.

"No point in showing up today anyways. Everybody is downtown." Tom answered as he leaned back on the counter, a foot away from the old man.

"I thought Granger had more sense to go to those pointless trials. They should just put the bastards against the wall and fire. Much more efficient." Mr. Burke turned the page of his paper. "And see, they waited too long and now Black is on the loose."

"The Ministry morons are getting too old. They are making a big deal out of nothing. I doubt Black has even held a gun in his life."

"We know what is wrong with this country, Tom. Those old dimwits are only doing it to scare people. Make them more willing to surrender even more freedom for 'security'. Besides, speaking of guns, do you know when we can expect that shipment from the States to arrive?"

"Tonight. I'm thinking about taking Granger out with me."

"Did you…?" Mr. Burke put down his newspaper, stunned. Hermione had only been in their lives for a handful of days, so for Tom to already share that kind of classified information was a huge deal.

"She has more brains than the others who know and she distrusts the Ministry. She's a perfect addition to our group." Tom said casually with his eyes towards space.

If Hermione did think of him as a friend, how much more would she be able to do for him? He was looking forward to seeing her again. A first that he had felt towards any person.

* * *

**A/N:** So much for having this story done by the end of the summer right? Well here was a short update that will hopefully get the ball rolling again. (Hint: Favorites and reviews make the ball roll faster.)


	11. The Smuggler

**A word from the author:** Don't throw stones at me folks. I'm really really sorry about not updating in such a long time. I had an evil professor last semester and I spent most of my spare time studying for his class. And then came the holidays, where I rekindled my relationship with my Xbox. But nonetheless, I bring you Chapter 11.

Happy Reading! ^_^

* * *

Chapter 11: The Smuggler

_**July 7**__**th**__**; 2:00 PM**_

Reality no longer seemed itself as Hermione made her way down to Borgin & Burkes. Her worst nightmares were slowly becoming reality with each and every man in grey uniform she saw. It was as if there weren't enough of them harassing citizens before, but now they roamed the streets like rabid pitbulls cut free from their leashes. A bunch of harsh one-liners were heard booming in the air.

"_Freeze!"_

"_Come here!"_

"_Stand over there!"_

"_Get down on the ground!"_

"_Don't move!"_

"_I'll shoot you!"_

Hermione didn't dare to stop and see who else were being made examples of. She felt like hell, and needed to make sense of the present situation. What a horrible day to be wearing heels! Damn shoes had already formed blisters under her feet from standing up all morning while waiting to be frisked. Hundreds of other Londoners were in line ahead of her. With all the policemen armed with AR-15's, there was no sneaking away.

"_This is a precautionary measure. All done for your safety."_ The Ministry reassured over the speakers all over town as she stood there like a dumb cow.

At least she had some talent running in heels. Once her adrenaline was pumping again, she was able to ignore the painful jeers from underneath her feet. Her physical abilities were put to the test as she cut through all the seedy back alleys to avoid the main streets. Cracked concrete and a broken glass utopia. Not to mention a safe haven for criminals. But who was more dangerous? A trained officer with a machine gun or a low IQ criminal with a handgun. She preferred to run into neither, but a cop for sure, she didn't want to see.

It took some time to finally reach her destination. Maybe around forty-five minutes. Tom was having a cigarette by the front door, not phased at all about the recent chaos. He seemed to have his eye on a police car that was slowly driving by, yet he made no outward motion to show any acknowledgement. No effort was made to hide his tats. Only a form-fitting tank top covered the ones on his torso. His arms were free for the world to see. It was as if he was baring his teeth to them, daring them to do something. If they did have their eyes on him, they kept on driving. Tom sure was something else. Many thugs occupied southern London. Loud and obnoxious as ever. All obviously screaming for attention. Not him. He was more like a snake slithering quietly in the grass. Maybe that was the meaning of that large viper on his back.

Once his gaze switched over to her, she felt her blood freeze, though she couldn't understand why. She at least had an idea what he was like. Nice guy? Hell no.

"Miss Granger, for as late as you are, I would think you'd put more effort into your appearance." He snickered while blowing out a cloud of smoke.

"I was at the courthouse this morning." She said blandly as she took a seat on the curb up front. She popped off both her heals and weakly massaged her sore feet. Locks of curly brown hair stuck to the sides of her neck. The temperature felt like it was nearing 40 C. Not a single cloud in sight.

"Hmm. It seems like a lot of waste to start a manhunt on some random, greasy mechanic." Tom shrugged as he took a seat next to her.

"Hey, that's my friend you're talking about." Hermione snapped.

"Relax. It's a harmless jab at an old friend. Besides, I hope it's obvious to you that this whole 'deranged, madman is on the loose' is a front for something even greater." Tom took one last drag from his cigarette before flicking it in the street.

"I know. Sirius is a good man. As much as he hates the policemen in this town, he wouldn't be so reckless."

"You never know what a person feels when they're backed up into a corner." Tom stood up, and then dusted off his jeans. "Come inside when you're finish resting. There are some things that shouldn't be said out in the open." With that, Tom pointed to his ear. In a dictatorship, she could guess that he meant there could be hearing devices around.

It was painful standing up. She almost fell over with the sudden overwhelming shocks in her legs. Clumsily, she made her way to the back where she heard his radio playing some kind of music she had never heard before. The language was still English, but totally new to her. A smooth beat, with men that sounded more like they were talking rather than singing.

She formed a fist to knock on the door. Half an inch away, she thought maybe she was passed that stage.

"_Partner in crimes, right?"_ She thought as she moved her hand down to the knob and twisted it open. Once again, she was in Tom's cluttered workroom. It seemed that one man's junk was another man's treasure with all the worn looking appliances that were all huddled together on shelves that even went beyond her head.

"What is that that you're listening to?" She asked, attempting some light conversation. His eyes remained on some appliance that he was taking apart.

"Hip hop. It's from the U.S. Dr. Dre I think is the name of the guy. You wouldn't believe how much music you can find on the internet. And it didn't cost me a dime. Well, if you don't count the CD they're burned on."

"Then how do singers make money if what their work for is just being given away?" Hermione questioned, pulling up a rusty stool Tom had in the corner. Not at all cushiony, but it took the pressure off her feet.

"Come on now. Nobody is that selfless. All these sites with 'free music' are entirely illegal, but it's hard to control the people who paid for the music from sharing with it others. But as a poor man, I have no choice but to use these sites to get what I need." He finished off sarcastically.

"I'm sure you are. All that equipment in your room looked real cheap." She replied in the same manner. Tom smiled at that while unscrewing more parts.

"Most of it is second-hand, but no, it was not cheap. Besides, making my living isn't easy. Do you think I care about how others make there ends meet?" He set a part down, and then picked up another. "Now back to the pressing issue. I wouldn't be outlandish to believe that Grindelwald has fabricated this story that Black has escaped, and is holding him somewhere else."

"But why would he do that? I thought his plan was to make an example out of Sirius by publicly executing him." She questioned while pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

"That's done so regularly, it's no longer surprising. While Sirius' name does carry some weight based on his bloodline, and his betrayal to his family is well-known, hanging him would be forgotten within a week. However, this whole fugitive mess may take longer to die out. And it allows the Ministry to exercise 'Emergency Procedures'. Everybody is a suspect. Well, everybody down here is a suspect. Damn 'Purebloods' can go on with their lives just like always."

"Now you're starting to sound a bit like a conspiracy nut. I don't think the Ministry would resort to measures that complex when they know simple actions have worked well in the past." Hermione stated, causing Tom's eyes to grow darker.

"And you're beginning to sound like another clueless lamb being led into the slaughter. Grindelwald has been in power for over fifty-two years. Don't be so naïve. If he takes three steps, we must take five in order to beat him." He snapped.

Hermione got quiet, not knowing how to respond. Again, the tension between him and her had returned. And she felt some slight humiliation for no longer being the one with all the right answers. She had a lot to say about Grindelwald and the Ministry, but she knew when it came down to research, Tom definitely had the upper hand. The image of his computer flashed through her mind.

"Did you look at the books that I lent you?" Tom asked more calmly, breaking the silence.

"I did." She said, matter-of-factly. She was sure he assumed that she blew them off.

"How'd it go?" He asked.

"Well I can't say much since computers are new to me, but I think I'll be able to understand them." She beamed.

"I don't need you to think. When you have a sense of doubt, you're more likely to give up when things become more and more difficult. If that's the way you feel, then let me know now and stop wasting my time."

She swore she saw a red gleam in his eye. Something that made them seem less human. What was he _really_ like when he lost his temper, she wondered. Most of the time, she had seen him calm and collected. His face was practically indifferent. Slightly stern, when displeased. But did he yell? She knew she did whenever she was pushed beyond her limit. And it wasn't a pretty sight. Well, if she didn't start getting computer science within the next few days, she was sure her question would be nastily answered.

"I will learn it." Hermione answered definitively. It was going to be a hard task to complete, but the fate of the nation depended on it. Change was greatly needed. "Soon."

"Good." Tom nodded curtly, expression remained dark. "And I expect you to meet me after work every day for further training. You can have every word in those books memorized, but if you never put that new knowledge into practice, you will never learn. Not a single day should be missed. In fact, from here on out, every task I assign you is to have priority over anything else going on in your life. Just to be clear, any attempt at an excuse will be wasted effort. You got that?"

Heat flared up towards Hermione's face. She had understood that as his student, she would have to put up with some crap, but just the way that he was asking her. **Demanding** her. The rage in her eyes must've shown well because Tom continued with his authoritative tone before she had a chance to protest.

"I see that what I've said has upset you. While it is admirable that you have the confidence to stand up for yourself, it would be in your best interest to listen to someone who is trying to help you." He exhaled irritably.

"You're starting to sound like the Ministry." She huffed, crossing her arms. "How do they say it though? 'Give us your loyalty and we will give you guidance to building a great nation'. I think that's how it goes."

"Let's not forget that you came to me." He said smugly as he leaned back in his chair. "If you didn't think that I had a solution, I wouldn't have found you crying at my door. And I didn't brush you off. I didn't tell you to go home. I showed you something I've never shown anyone else, and then I offered to show you what I know and how to use that knowledge to change the country. A fantastic deal, yet you still feel that it's not enough. What more were you looking for? For me to give you a gold star? Tell you 'Congratulations' for everything you're expected to do? I'm preparing you for war, Granger. If you can't thicken up your skin, then you should go sit in the sidelines and stay out of the way."

"That doesn't give you the right-"

"If you don't like my teaching methods, then go and find somebody else. We are not equals, and will remain that way until you can do what I can do. You'll be hard-pressed finding anyone else who can show you what I can. Much less someone with the resources I have."

Tom's eyes became sharper with every word he spoke. Even as he sat back, relaxed, she couldn't help but keep stiff in her seat. She wanted to argue, let him know she wasn't one to be controlled. Her mouth opened slightly, but all that came out was a small whimper. She felt the color flush from her face. How humiliating. As time ticked on, a smirk slowly grew on his face. What was wrong with her? Her mind drew a blank. She couldn't think of any good insult to throw at him. Nothing that will cut him as deep as he had cut her. The brief second her eye wondered across the cluttered room, she saw a screwdriver lying on the table in front of him. With her mind MIA during this critical time, she was ready to do something totally against her nature. She was ready to resort to something primitive, and very savage. She wanted to snatch that screwdriver and stab him in the chest. Repeatedly.

To calm herself, she breathed in deeply. Any other time, she swore to herself that she would've done it. But then Sirius…

As it killed it to admit to herself that she needed Tom, she exhaled loudly. And as she had no choice but to kneel down in defeat, it became much more evident. Too bad Tom was far from modest.

"Awfully quiet there. Are you alright?" He raised an eyebrow. Hardly out of concern. More of a taunt, than anything else.

"Never been better." Her voice was barely audible. It was hard being forced to show respect someone who blatantly told her he wouldn't show her the same courtesy.

"That's good to hear. Well I hope you don't have any plans for tonight. I have few things set up that will make it a night to remember." His mood lightened up, yet in no way, made her feel better.

Internally, she groaned. With everything that had gone down the past eighteen hours, she didn't want to go anywhere. With what just happened in the last five minutes, she really didn't want to go anywhere with him.

"Yay…" She said weakly.

"Go home. Take a shower. You look like you need it. Don't forget your 'reading' and I'll go pick you up at your apartment eleven."

"Thank you." She painfully put on a smile before she dismissed herself. The whole walk home, she cursed like a drunken sailor under her breath.

* * *

**4:32 PM**

How long had she been shampooing her hair? So much going on that her mind still needed more time to process it. Her fingers were all shriveled up, and pretty numb, by the time she stepped out. She threw on some dark-colored sweats before she tossed herself back on her bed. Her head was aching. All she wanted to do was go to sleep. Sleep sounded so good. What would it be like if she never woke up?

No. No, she couldn't think like that. There was still hope. At least that was what she liked to think. She picked up one of Tom's books that she had on her nightstand. Best do her part on changing the nation, right?

_Numerical Analysis._

Sounded interesting. She had always loved math. In middle school, she was the only one who would get perfect scores on her algebra exams. Of course, she knew better than to brag about it. There were a couple of Neanderthals that beat on anybody who stood out, be it boy or girl. Hopefully all that studying from those days would help her get through Tom's books. She glanced down the Table of Contents to see what she what she had in store.

_Error Analysis_

_Solutions of Equations in One Variable_

_Interpolation and Polynomial Approximation_

_Numerical Differentiation and Integration_

_Initial-Value Problems for Ordinary Differential Equations_

The chapter titles got longer and more complex sounding as she went on. But for a chance to one up Tom in the near future, it may be worth sacrificing hours of sleep each night. A little more than six hours before he would come by for her. She could cram in a good size of information by then.

After reading four words from the first paragraph, her phone rang. While walking out to the kitchen to answer it, her mind raced as she thought who it could've possibly been. The phone almost never rang.

"Hello?" She answered warily.

"Hey Hermione, how've you been? I just wanted to call and check given all that's been going on in the news." It was Ron.

With all that had been going on, she hadn't thought about Ron at all. She really felt bad. Ron had always been good to her after all. But they were from two different worlds. He grew up a pureblood. He would never know how hard life was for her. It wasn't his fault. If things were different, they could've been great together. She had to let him go. Best to let him down easy now before getting in too deep and risk shattering both their hearts later.

"I've been busy. Sorry." She said.

"If you ever need anything, don't be afraid to tell me." Ron reassured.

Did he really like her? She sensed some slight hurt in his voice over not seeing her.

"Listen, Ron. Right now is not a good time for me. And I don't want you to just wait around."

"I don't mind at all. Like I said; I'll be there if you need me to be or I'll stay out of your hair. Either way is fine. I just want to make sure we are on the same page."

"That's very nice of you, but I think it's better if you forget about me."

"Hermione-"

"I'm sorry Ron, but I have to go."

She hung up before he had a chance to say anything else. Her hazel eyes looked down at the phone wishing she hadn't done that. Slowly, she peeled her hand off the phone, and then returned to her room. Again, she cracked open the Numerical Analysis book and started reading.

"_I'm preparing you for war, Granger."_ Tom's words rang through her head.

The stage was already being set. Grindelwald had taken a bold step today. A rather risky step, though. The Ministry was charging towards the lower class with full force. If they could be tripped up, even if just a little bit, they would come spiraling down. Tom knew this very well, and probably why he was rushing her. She couldn't guess what his move would be, or how much he would have her play a part in all of it. All she knew was that she wanted to be a part of the revolution.

* * *

**11:09 PM**

"…_unbelievable all that has unraveled today. After the mess at the Courthouse this morning, State Policemen are seen within every square mile of the city and checkpoints leading out of London have far higher security than before. I encourage you all to stay indoors. Only leave your homes if absolutely necessary…"_

_Woo!_ Tom's concentration was taken away from the pirate radio station. He looked up into his rear-view mirror and saw flashing red lights. No doubt in his mind that it was a cop. He sighed with this sudden inconvenience. His faded red truck was sort of a well-known item around the neighborhood, and the cops usually drove right passed him. Even if he was speeding. Whoever was stopping him must've been a rookie.

"Step out of the vehicle, sir!" The cop ordered into a vehicle. Tom was tempted to pull out his gun from his glove compartment and fire a round into the cop's eye, but he knew better than to act rashly. He stepped out of his truck compliantly, though begrudgingly.

"Now put your hands in the air!" Tom continued to follow directions.

"And wave them like you just don't care!" With that, Tom turned around. He squinted his eyes to get a look at his arresting officer. The lack of good street lamps made him hard to see, but some men are distinguishable from a mile away. Squat man with short stubby legs. His formally long, greasy ginger hair would've been seen in the silhouette had he not been forced to shave it down into a buzz cut once joining the State Police.

"Fletcher?" Tom hollered.

"Nice to run into you, Riddle." Said the cop.

Officer Mundungus Fletcher was probably the easiest police officer that Tom had corrupted, and turned out to be the most valuable. A man far more interested in money than anything else, he didn't hesitate to get in on the Black Market that Tom had expanded across Britain in the early nineties. In fact, the man played a critical role in creating smuggling routes across the country. He didn't hesitate to sell Tom some highly sensitive information or give him the names to other officers that could be persuaded to do the same. What really made him valuable was his American contacts that sold Tom most of his imports.

"I ought to cut your balls off for that." Tom said as he threw down his hands and walked over to the basset hound looking man.

"Come now, Riddle. Learn to laugh every once and a while." He patted Tom on the elbow. Not tall enough to pat him on the shoulder. "Come sit in my office." Fletcher led Tom into his patrol car.

"So what's new?" Tom asked as soon as he was inside.

"My American friend has some neat little toys you may be interested in. What do you think about upgrading from those squirter guns to AK-47's? Uzi's, tech-9's, SMG's? If you want to take on the police force, or should things really pick up, the Dementors, with thugs with almost no professional training, I think automatic weapons would be the way to go. I think this guy can get your hands on grenades too." Fletcher explained.

"I'll pass on the grenades. I can put together satchel charges with some spare parts over at Bourgin's. As for the guns, have him send me prices. The next thing I want to know is how that heroine from Afghanistan is coming along." Tom said as he pulled out a cigarette from his leather jacket.

"I should have that information for you soon. As for the other stuff, that'll all be in by two."

"Good to hear." Tom said almost blankly.

"Lookin' tough in all black. You should really think about throwin' on some color every now and then." Fletcher asked, fixing himself back up, getting ready to drive away.

"I'll keep that in mind." Tom started to head out the car. "I'll catch you later, Dung." Tom slammed the door and headed back to his truck. Fletcher drove off, tires screeched loudly, and he nearly missed Tom as he speed off.

Tom glanced at his Rolex watch. 11:28. Well, it seemed he was already late.

"Better late than never." Tom said with his cigarette dangling from his mouth as he hopped back in his truck.

* * *

**A/N:** I'm really grateful for all the positive feedback I've gotten for this story, and I hope that I haven't lost any of you since I've taken so long to update. I have big plans for this story, and I wouldn't dream about abandoning it. I hope to see you guys soon, but no promises since my classes are getting harder and harder each semester. Now I got four different math based classes, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to throw my head through a wall any day now.

Catch you later, and please review! :D


	12. The Chemist

**A word from the author:** What's up, Homefries! Here's another chapter for you guys to enjoy during the weekend. This one, in particular, was notoriously difficult to write because we start to explore Tom a little more. _*I tap the tips of my fingers together while I snicker menacingly in the shadows*_ I'm not sure how much darker this story will get, if you even think it's dark at all, but in upcoming chapters, you'll understand why this story is rated M.

Happy Reading! ^_^

* * *

Chapter 12: The Chemist

_**July 7**__**th**__**; 11:34 PM**_

Severus gave a small chuckle when he rolled over in his cot and took a look at his digital alarm clock. It spelled "hell" upside down and he felt his life was ever so since the day he was born. Not a thing had gone the way he had originally planned. If he wasn't afraid of what could happen in the afterlife, he probably would've shot himself once the love of his life fell in love with another. To someone who didn't deserve her purity, her charm, and her soft beauty. Where was he now? In this dusty old mansion, lying on a stinky cot, and waiting for the latest shipment of drugs to come in.

It would still be hours before he would need to get to work, but he couldn't sleep anymore. He'd been sleeping all day, taking advantage of the sacred free time he had. Stretching coke was seriously time-consuming. Then again, it was much more rewarding than teaching snot-nosed rich kids chemistry at Hogwarts University. Every term or so, he would have one student that was worth teaching, but for the most part, those kids were used to being fed with a silver spoon and wanted to be spoon fed everything for the rest of their lives. He lost track of the times that a student would go harass him during his office hours to give them an A, and they clearly didn't deserve it. In the three years that he had been teaching, roughly sixty students per term, only handful could tell him what the difference between and acid and a base. He usually lost all of them when he tried to teach them atomic structures. It didn't matter how slowly he tried to explain it to them. They didn't care. Why should they care?

Those who had a fancy last name practically had their lives handed to them on a silver platter. And they had virtually no competition because most Average Joes would never make it to college. Only about one-twelfth of the entire population of all of Great Britain and its territories were pureblooded. With millions out of the running for higher education, they didn't really have to study to get ahead. Severus used to consider himself lucky for passing the NEWTs. He got into Hogwarts and graduated with a degree in Chemistry (minor in physics) in three years. In his forth, he was certified to teach anywhere in the country. He chose to stay at Hogwarts to teach and do research, but being a "half-breed", he was barred from doing anything truly meaningful. The Dean of the College of Science, Dr. Horace Slughorn, gave him a tiny little budget and an even tinier lab to work in. It was practically a broom closet.

At times, he cursed his mother for choosing his father. Eileen Prince was born into a wealthy family. Both elegant and beautiful, she could've had any man she wanted. Yet for some reason, she chose Tobias Snape, a poor gardener with not a dime to his name. As much as she gave up to be with him, their marriage was far from a happy one. They argued day and night about every single thing, leaving him to raise himself. The memories of him wearing mismatched clothes, and going to sleep with hunger never washed away. He remembered that he used to think if he could pass the NEWTs, he could change things. He thought he could make a lot of money to help his parents out, but both of them died before they could see how wrong his theory was.

He soon stopped looking forward to the future, not long after he started teaching. Just taking things day by day, silently wishing for death. That was until one night where he walked into his "lab" to finish some work and found a student messing with his equipment to make crack. If he had any love left for the school, he would've reported the student straight to the Headmaster. But as a man at the end of his rope, he showed this student a better way to adulterate the coke. They took a kilo, and turned it into several. And the coke looked clean. It still maintained its nice snow white color, and was definitely worth more than any off-white garbage that was being sold at the time.

In less than a year since the incident, he resigned his job as a chemistry professor went to work for the little hooligan. He had more money that he knew what to do with and he finally felt that his talents were being put to use. Maybe not the best use, but one could only ask for so much with a sadist controlling the nation. In a way, flooding the streets with drugs was payback for having such a shitty childhood. Unfair reforms made by the Ministry made it hard to make a decent living. If his father had an easier time making money, then maybe he wouldn't have been so short tempered and would've never beaten his mother. They could've been a happy family. He felt so robbed that he didn't care that what he was doing was extremely illegal. As soon as Tom asked him to help him in his drug business, he understood why his brightest student would turn to a life of crime. Severus didn't take long to think before jumping on the bandwagon as well.

Years of hardship showed well by the hard lines on his face. His dark eyes looked even darker. He took a long look in the mirror once he stepped into one of the bathrooms of the old house. Few would believe him when he said he was only thirty-seven. He easily looked fifty-seven. There were already a number of white hairs sprouting out of his scalp. Clearly visible on his long, jet-black hair. He groaned and moaned as he freshened up and gotten dressed, and then headed downstairs to prepare his workspace. Tom had rather stringent deadlines and expected to ship the drugs almost as soon as they were brought in. At least by 1, he could expect his workers to begin arriving. They sure had a long day ahead of them. On top of stretching the coke, they had to package it, and have it ready to go onto their wholesalers.

* * *

_**11:42 PM**_

Tom parked in front of Hermione's building. There was already somebody by the front entrance, pressing on the buzzer. He stepped out of his truck nonetheless, and acted as if the boy wasn't there. He brushed pass him and pressed on the buzzer to bring Hermione out.

"Hey, excuse you!" Harry yelled at Tom's rudeness. Tom looked down at him with obvious repulsion, as if he was grime beneath his boots, causing Harry's temper to grow.

"You should be careful how you speak to some people. You never know who can be carrying a gun." Tom threatened to shut the boy up.

Harry had noticed how Tom had pressed down on Hermione's buzzer and had many hypotheses immediately threw themselves into his head. As it was, he couldn't sleep because of what was going on with Sirius. He needed someone to talk to. Someone who had always been there when he needed her most, yet recently, he had a feeling that she was keeping something from him. Seeing Tom standing there further validated this feeling. Sirius had told him many rumors about Tom. Nasty rumors, and he wondered what brought him by in the middle of the night. Hermione was a decent girl with a strong moral compass. What was she doing getting mixed up with a gangster? Harry wanted to give Tom a fist to the face, but his godfather had always warned him against picking a fight with thugs. So instead, he waited. Soon Hermione would be out, and he could ask her directly what the hell was going on.

The two of them stood there in the night without saying another word. Hermione sure took her time to get ready, which was odd because she preferred to walk around as a plain-Jane rather than getting all dolled up. Twelve minutes later, she made it to the front in a pair of faded jeans and her favorite lavender sweater. She seemed distracted as she brushed back some stray hairs in her pony tail, but as soon as she saw both Tom and Harry, her eyes were wide open.

She really couldn't care less what Tom thought about Harry. However, she was worried about what Harry thought about Tom. It was going to be hard to explain what she was getting involved in. She did plan to…eventually. Harry was like a brother to her and it didn't feel right to hold secrets from him. As her face flushed, the words she was trying to say wouldn't come out. She sure wasn't ready to come clean just yet.

Harry grabbed onto her wrist to pull her aside. They needed to talk now before she did something she was going to regret. Tom rolled his eyes at the boy's attempt to keep her from a guy "like him", but he allowed him to play hero while he stepped aside to the curb to smoke a cigarette.

"Hermione, what are you doing?" He whispered to her, disapprovingly. Ever since he was a kid, he thought those who turned to gangs to find fulfillment were doomed to be failures. The story was always the same from his experience. He and Hermione had grown up in the same neighborhood. They saw countless childhood friends make all the wrong decisions, and a few of them were already dead. Others had developed a drinking or drug habit. Another couple was serving time in Azkaban. It was only a matter of time before the "free" ones would fall into one of these traps. Harry always believed those who would even think about joining a gang was stupid, and up until this point, he thought Hermione did too. He couldn't think of any other reason she would expect Tom at such a late hour.

"Harry, you have to trust me. I know exactly what I'm getting into. Tom offered me some help, and he's not asking much from me." Hermione explained as briefly as she could. Tom was only a few feet away. She wanted to avoid giving Harry any information that could get him killed.

"That's how they trick you in. They help you with one thing, and then they expect you to pay them back with your life. You refuse, they'll kill you. It's like selling your soul to the devil. Tom is a Death Eater, the most dangerous gang in Great Britain. You're being too reckless." Harry argued. Hermione shook her head to show her disagreement.

Tom was no ordinary thug. He was brilliant. Much more than her, as much as it gave her a sour feeling as she admitted it. He had taken some rather large steps to gain her trust. It would just be rude if she suddenly turned her back on him now. And her old plan no longer looked as desirable as it had once been. This path that she was on now was the one she now planned to see through to the end. It hurt when she thought that it may cost her her longest friend. But the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.

"He has my trust. I'm sorry Harry, but I've made my decision." She turned to walked away over to Tom's old red truck.

"Hermione!" Harry shouted, but he didn't run after her. When Tom saw her move, he threw his cigarette out into the street and headed over to the truck as well.

"How do you feel?" Tom asked once he was inside the cab and slammed his door. His tone was apathetic which made her question why he asked it in the first place.

"Why?" She asked as she put on her seat belt. Her throat was gradually swelling up, but she couldn't allow herself to cry in front of him. She was hoping he would start the truck and drive so he would have to keep his eyes on the road, but he didn't. Instead, he turned to face her. Even in the darkness of the night, she couldn't miss the hard look in his eyes.

"I ask because after this is the last time that I'll let you out and go back to your old life. You'll be fired from Borgin & Burkes, of course, but I'll never bother you again. As long as you keep quiet about what I've told you so far, that is." His tone cut her like a knife. No doubt in her mind that he would kill her if she did anything to ruin him. "I don't want to trick you into something you won't be able to handle. I'm sure you have come to the assumption that I'm a bad guy, and I'll give you further assurance. I've killed people, Granger. A lot of people. And several of them died very slowly and very painfully. I've also robbed people, and on occasion, I like to get high. The underworld is filled with people like me. If you want to survive, you can't continue to be this whiny, emotional girl. Nor can you pretend that you know better than everyone else, and say 'no' to everything. That makes people suspicious and it will ultimately put you in the position you were trying to avoid. I can guarantee you, if you stay in this truck; you're going to be a very different person by the end of the month. You won't even believe how naïve you once were.

"And whether you believe it or not, I've grown to like you in the last few days. I honestly enjoy your company, which is new for me. Like I said before, you have the potential to match me intellectually, and it's always nice to have at least one person to relate to. But if you fall apart on me somewhere down the road, I'm gonna have to kill you. So if you don't think you have what it takes, spare me the trouble and leave now. The last thing I would want is to have your blood on my hands."

Hermione wanted so much to say she was down for whatever without hesitation, but now more than ever, she had an idea of what her life would be like if she continued to follow Tom. It was when he said that he had killed people. Her intuition had already let her know that he did, but to hear him admit it was something else entirely. And he said it like it was no big deal. It didn't seem that it haunted him or kept him rolling in his bed at night. Would she really be like that one day? She wouldn't know for sure until she was put in that situation. No one ever knew until then. Like a confused little doe, she looked up into the eyes of vicious wolf, trying to figure out what the best move would be.

"_You'll be a different person by the end of the month."_ She recalled his words. Did she want to change? Sure change was part of growing up, but becoming a hardened criminal had never occurred to her. Was Tom ever in the position she was in right now? Everybody is born into the world without knowing what's wrong and what's right. She believed those who chose to live their lives outside the law had their reasons for doing so, whatever they might be. She was on the brink of making that decision herself, and she thought maybe some of those people had noble intentions. While Tom seemed to enjoy the power and money that came with that way of life, there must've been a day where he had just as clean a slate as hers.

"Granger?" He said as she hadn't responded to anything he had just said.

"I wanna stay." She said as boldly as she could, but her voice shook a bit.

"Are you sure? I'm about to switch on the engine." He put his key in the ignition. "I'm about to twist it. If you don't get out now, there's no turning back." He taunted, with a slight smile. She guessed he was trying to clear the thick tension that had built up in the truck, and it did help. Her throat started to loosen up and tears weren't hanging off the edge of her eyes anymore.

"I'm sure." She said as she caught a stray one with her sleeve.

"Alright then, let's go." The truck was brought to life and they drove off.

* * *

_**July 8**__**th**__**; 12:22 AM**_

Hermione sat quietly in the passenger's seat quietly as Tom continued to drive. Just how far was he planning on taking them? And where? She couldn't see a bloody thing on the pitch black road aside what the headlights lit up. He hadn't even hinted before where they were going. Well, not even an hour ago, his trust in her was still shaky. He had tested her again, and she passed. So maybe she was entitled to some answers now.

"So where are you driving us, Riddle?" She asked.

"The docks down in Portsmouth. There's no traffic tonight. I guess because of all the confusion going on, so we should get there in about two hours if I keep my speed high. Three at the very most." His voice was low, accentuating his natural baritone. Things got quiet again, and she didn't know how to start a conversation with him. It was way past her bedtime and she had spent most of the evening studying. In a two to three hour drive, she could use that time to catch up on her sleep. It was perfectly dark, with some moonlight sneaking in, and the old seats weren't too bad. Somewhat firm, but soft enough to sleep on.

"I have a confession to make." He spoke once she closed her eyes.

"Hmm." She responded with her eyes still shut.

"I did take the NEWTs. Passed them and attended Hogwarts for a while."

"But you said-" She opened her eyes to turn to look at him.

"I know what I said. At the time, I thought it was better to give you a short lie than the long, complicated truth. Though now, with this position that we're both in, and the long drive we have ahead of us, this would be the optimal time to tell you my story."

Hermione was all ears now. If what he had just said was true, then that would mean that he had accomplished her previous goal of going to college. That would also mean that something went wrong for him to turn out the way he did. Murderer, thief, drug dealer, etcetera, etcetera. While he had already proven to her that he was smart, this new revelation didn't really sit well with her. She didn't understand why. Was it because it just felt too familiar?

"I used to be like you when I was your age. I thought I could find the answers to everything in a book, and I read everything I could get my hands on. It didn't matter how irrelevant the material seemed at the time. I wasn't disproven when the time came for me to take the NEWTs. Not really a big deal for me since I had been studying a little at a time all my life. I finished it in half the time that all the others that year and I got perfect scores in the math and science sections. Missed maybe one or two questions in reading and grammar. Definitely more than enough to get accepted into Hogwarts. Sadly, the curriculum wouldn't be the hardest thing I would have to face there.

"The scholarship I got wasn't enough to cover my books, and barely enough to cover my tuition. Purebloods avoided me like I was infected with some lethal virus. Professors also treated me differently. This bitch, Carrow I think her name was, was my English Literature Professor. She gave me a D on my final because she said my arguments were weak. I stole the paper of one of the Purebloods I had in that class. His paper was full of grammatical errors. You know what his grade was? An A. A motherfuckin' A. It was then that I realized no matter how hard I study; my heritage was going to hold me back. I dropped out soon after. I didn't care to see what my final grades were."

"Is that when you decided it was better to become an outlaw?" Hermione asked. The parallels were hard to ignore now, and everything he said made perfect sense. Why would purebloods treat a mudblood who made it into Hogwarts any differently? They were raised to stay away from them. Nothing had changed in the last fifty years.

"Yes. The law was screwing me over, so I thought it would only be fitting to screw the law. But then as I grew older, I thought it was time to put an end to all this bullshit. Fifty-two years of the same old man spreading his illogical ideals is more than long enough. It's clear to me that he's starting to slip with the economy showing pretty large cracks and a police force doing whatever it is they please. This is the time to strike.

"Have you've ever seen when what water can do to iron? It reduces it to a pile of red dust. All it needs is an opening. Well, I've already broken into our opening, and already done some damage. I've already bought a couple dozen cops, which includes a few chiefs all across the country. The Death Eaters continue to get richer and richer while the big companies like Malfoy industries are starting to lose money. With a couple of brilliant minds watching over the situation, it'll be a neatly controlled demolition and we can rebuild the nation just as we like." Tom smiled as he brushed a finger across her chin. She felt electricity from the gentle touch. She couldn't remember if Tom had ever touched her in the past. It was…nice.

"How long do you think it'll take?" She asked.

"I don't know. All I know is that things have unraveled rather fast. Ten years ago, things weren't so bad. At least crime wise. The death rate was maybe a few thousand per year in all of Britain. Now that rate is in London alone. But the Ministry chose to turn a blind eye rather than stop it because it was all happening in our neck of the woods. This was worth noting and allowed for the Black Market to flourish in this country. Good for us, Grindelwald didn't think about the long term consequences because of his ignorance. I'm thinking we can have him against the ropes by the time new millennium rolls in."

Tom had just mentioned that "We" will rebuild the nation. We? Did that mean him and her? She had always thought about making big changes, but to be one of the people to have actual power to control the nation sounded so surreal. And with Tom. Funny how she only met him a little more than a week ago and they were in the process of destroying the Ministry. He had chosen her. _Her_.

So many feelings rushed to her like excitement, flattery, fear, uncertainty, disbelief, with a twinge of haughtiness. Her life had changed in a blink of an eye, and she couldn't decide which would be the proper reaction. Everything was feeling more real than ever, like she was finally living life. She spent most of her time indoors reading, studying, but the time had come when she had to apply that knowledge. She was at last taking a step towards bringing the change she wanted. There was a tough challenge ahead of her, but she felt ready. She had to be ready. Tom had told her many times before what the penalty for failure was.

"_Breath, Hermione."_ She reminded herself. _"You had your chance to back out, but you stayed. This is your life now. It will all pay off soon."_

* * *

_**2:37 AM**_

Tom parked a block shy of the docks. Plenty of lights around to keep the perimeter well lit for early-arriving cargo ships. Portsmouth was kept constantly busy being one of the biggest import/ export centers in the world. It was also the least regulated, with minimal to almost no inspections, making it a smuggler's paradise. Tom looked over to the huge crates holding a plethora of commerce. He remembered when he was a teenager, he would break into a few of them to steal some valuable stuff, and pawn it to Mr. Burke. The old man new very well the stuff brought to him was hot, but it didn't bother him. Instead, he offered Tom a job. Officially, he became a shop boy, but on the down low, he continued to bring Burke illicit goods. Together, the two would create an intricate network of trade, all done in secret. Soon, they realized they needed more helping hands, and Tom went over to the closest thing he had to friends and brought them in. Called them the Death Eaters, because they would become Britain's untouchables. He gave those worthless street punks something to do, something big. He led them into greatness, but he wanted more. He didn't want to just be lurking in the shadows, where his power was very restricted. He wanted the position that the old geezer Grindelwald had. The man was far passed his prime, and needed to be replaced with someone who had a fresher approach on where to take the nation.

He turned his head to check on Hermione. She had dozed off over an hour ago on the drive there. She looked so peaceful, so serene. There was no way she fully understood what she had signed up for. But she wasn't going to be another lowly henchman. It would be a waste not to nurture her brain with priceless information he had gathered over the years. With her, he could achieve his dream much faster. And if she continued to behave, she'd be his right-hand. He always believed himself to be one of the most brilliant minds of his day, but it would be good to have another strong mind by his side to check for any oversight. Potentially, even come up with a better solution.

But first, he needed to bring her in slowly. The transformation wasn't going to overnight. Gradually, he'd introduce her to more things, gauge her reactions, and work from there.

"Granger." He shook her shoulder. She groaned before she cracked her eyes open.

"Are we there yet?" She yawned. "What time is it?" She had to ask as there was no sunlight in sight yet.

"Yes, we're here. And it is 2:40 in the morning." He told her. "Now wakey, wakey. We have somewhere we have to be." He told her before he stepped out of his truck.

When Hermione stepped out, she caught a whiff of the ocean water, and then something else. Portsmouth had become a very large industrial center in the country. Her father had told her about the factories they had near the sea. He had talked about moving down there because he thought he could find another, possibly better paying, job. They never did because of the high expense to move. The main reason why people stayed in Britain instead of settling in another country.

She then realized that this was her first time ever being outside of London. Too bad she couldn't see much of it. There was light. Just not enough to get a good picture of the city they were in. Though it was impressive to see the large cargo and big machinery used to move them. She followed Tom until they were a few feet away of the ocean.

"The shipment is running late. It should've been here by now." Tom crossed his arms as he stared out into the night. The ocean looked like an endless abyss without the sun out. "Well there's nothing to do but wait. My mobile phone probably won't get a signal out here. It's terribly unreliable."

"A mobile phone?" Hermione rubbed her eyes as she showed confusion at some other unknown gizmo that he mentioned.

"This." He took it out of his jacket and handed it to her. It looked like a black brick. She popped open the receiver to see the dialing pad. It looked just like a regular phone to her.

"So does this work anywhere?" She asked as she handed it back.

"Not everywhere. Technology still has a long way to go before that, but it'll work outside my home which is very convenient." He put it back in his jacket pocket. "Ah, there it comes."

Hermione followed his gaze and saw some distant lights. The shipment was almost arriving. She wondered what Tom was waiting for. Black market goods, no doubt, but that could've meant a bunch of things.

"Come on." Tom ordered as once the modest-sized ship docked. A few men were walking out into the deck and lowered a board for them to climb in.

He led Hermione up into the ship's cargo. All she saw was hundreds of brick-sized packages, neatly stacked atop pallets and tightly wrapped in plastic. Tom walked over to one of the stacks, pulled out a knife out of his pocket and cut the plastic with one stroke of his arm. He then picked up one of the foil bricks and stuck his knife into it.

"Come take a look." He told her. She walked over, pondering of what he had to show her. He pulled out his knife slowly from the package, having some very fine white powder balancing itself on top of the blade. "Do you know what is?" He asked.

"Drugs." She answered as she looked down at it more closely.

"More specifically." He looked into her eyes. She shook her head not knowing what exactly what it was.

"Cocaine, dear. A very profitable drug and one of the easiest to move. In the '80s, this drug took the US by storm. Then in the mid-eighties, dealers started to freebase it and turn it into crack, which can produce a very powerful high and can be sold in small quantities for a very fair price. It helped your run-of-the-mill street punks turn into organized crime. It's was how the Death Eaters got their start, too. And why stop doing something that has been working very well?"

He placed the brick back in the stack, but he pinched a bit of coke off his knife and swiftly sniffed it up his nose.

"Ah, this is good stuff." He said as he took another sniff. "Wanna try some? Cocaine is an amazing stimulant. The first time I tried it, I stayed up for three days. And it looks like you're already having trouble staying awake." He held the knife closer her face so she could have a better look at the stuff.

Instinct told her to say "No", but she remembered she was a new person now, or so she wanted to be. _"Try new things, live life. Not all the answers can be read. But then again, that's drugs. I don't want to turn into an addict."_

"A small bit of coke every now and then won't hurt you. And I'll cut you off if I see you're developing a problem." He said as if he read her mind.

"_Maybe just once. I've been drunk and I haven't wanted to drink ever since."_ She pinched some of the light powder into her fingers. She sniffed it up. Boy, did it sting. Then, her face started to go numb. This sure was an unfamiliar sensation.

Tom smiled as she tried to compose herself. It was sort of funny seeing when amateurs had their first hit of something. They always thought they could handle it and then go a little overboard with it. He'd keep an eye on her because he would really need her mind in working order, but she also really needed to loosen up.

"You can hang down her for a bit. I need to talk to the captain first, and then we'll be on our way." He patted her shoulder, slightly proud that she was finally easing up to him. He hoped aside from gaining a worthy student, he may've gained someone worth being his friend.

* * *

**A/N:** Hermione did drugs! OMG! O:

So what do you guys think? Should I just pull the plug on this story? Just kidding. We're almost at the 100 review mark. We can do it, people! :)

Until next time. (:


	13. The Old House

**Author's Note:** Ok, so the last few weeks have been one hell of a rollercoaster for me. But I finally got this chapter written. Phew. The wonderful reviews I've gotten lately really helped me get through it. Thanks again you guys.

So here's a nice long chapter to make up for lost times. Enjoy! ^_^

* * *

Chapter 13: The Old House

_**July 8**__**th**__**; 4:03 AM**_

"We're here." Tom said in a low voice as he shut off his truck. Hermione looked outside and saw nothing but a shack. And it was very early in the morning. Her heart started to race as terrible scenarios started playing out in her head.

"Where is 'Here'? I don't see anything but a dilapidated house." She asked, keeping her seatbelt on.

"That's a good sign." Tom took off his. "You clearly don't want to go inside and you feel nervous just to be around it. Just the goal I was hoping to accomplish by leaving it in this state."

"Huh?" She said a little dumbly, causing Tom to give a small laugh.

"Help me move the stuff in the back inside, and you'll see." He soon hopped out of the truck and closed his door. Before she had a chance to move, he was already headed towards the shack.

She groaned as she got out herself. The light breeze didn't help comfort her at all. Why did Tom have to be so secretive? Hadn't he told her that she had gained more of his trust? These mind games were starting to work on her nerves, though if she confronted him on it, she was sure she would get to relive the episode from the day before. Not that she was scared of that, but constant arguing would get them nowhere. Her country needed her, and until the war was over, she knew she needed to learn how to swallow her pride. She couldn't imagine him doing that.

"Here, take this and start filling it up with what we brought." He presented her with a wheel barrel that he had gotten from within the shack. Once she had her grip on the wooden handles, he went back over to the truck to untie a corner of the tarp that kept the shipment of coke hidden and in place. She remembered the burst of energy she had when she first helped Tom put them in his truck back in Portsmouth. No doubt it was from the hit of coke he had her do before they left. She still had some of that energy to move the coke inside the house, but it was slowly diminishing.

"Hurry, we don't have all morning." He scolded in a whisper.

She pushed the wheel barrel, determined to do away with this tedious little task ASAP so she could find out what Tom was up to. In the end, Tom took control of the wheel barrel while she was the one who loaded it up. It felt so good when she took that last brick and gave it to him to take inside. Now for some answers.

He let her into the shack first before closing the door behind them. It was dark. Pitch black really, but she heard Tom move around like he had done this a million times. He switched on a camping lantern, which hurt like hell since she had been in the dark for most of the evening and then there was a sudden flash of white light. Once her pupils had adjusted to the lighting, she looked around and saw nothing but dirt. It was almost like they were standing in the middle of a cave. On the sides of the wall were mounds of dirt. As she took a closer look, it appeared the walls were dirt as well, but far more compacted as if someone had pushed it into place to form a new wall. And nothing from outside could be seen. All she saw was dirt.

"This'll all make sense soon enough." Tom picked up the lantern and led her to another room, creating more questions than it answered.

A huge hole sat in the middle of the room. More than large enough for two full-grown men to fit inside. But it seemed to turn in another direction.

"A tunnel?" She asked while straining her eyes to see the end with no luck.

"Good job Ms. Granger. Ten points to you." He mocked as he knelt down near the hole. There was a heavy-looking remote control with a large green button on the center on the ground. The thick cable at the end disappeared somewhere into the dirt-covered floor. He pressed down on it and some kind of buzzing sound came from the tunnel. They both remained quiet until the buzzing stopped. A steel cart had appeared at the bottom of the pit. The size of it was rather impressive. It was even larger than the bed of Tom's truck. Even long enough for him to lie down flat in.

"Alright, let's get the coke and move it in here." He stood up and headed back to the living area to start moving the shipment.

"Where does that tunnel go to?" She asked, following him.

"Patience child." He said taking several bricks into his arms and took them over to the cart.

She frowned, but she knew better than to complain. Several times, she had brought up to herself why she still bought into his crap. And every time, she came up with the same answer; there was no other direction to follow. What she had grown up believing was right wasn't right any more. Nothing was right. Everything was fucked up and it was only a matter of time before she would realize that. As she helped Tom move the bricks of coke into the underground cart, she saw the surrealism of it all, but she also saw how it was all so fitting. Irony was now the expected outcome. Like the good girl getting mixed up drug deals. She couldn't suppress the humor of it any longer.

"What's so funny?" Tom asked when a chuckled passed her lips. At some point he had taken off his jacket, showing off his tattooed muscles again in his tight white tank. It was kind of humid in the cave.

"I just never imagined myself getting mixed up with drugs before." She continued to smile as she worked.

"Shit happens. We all have our story. Some not as impressive as others, but there's a reason behind the decisions we make." He said as he brought the last of the coke to the cart and sent it away with one more press of the green button.

"So what's yours?" She asked. She could imagine Tom had one hell of a story behind him. While he looked like such a punk with the tats and steel-toed boots, but she had already seen there was much more to him. How many gangsters had she met that was highly skilled at advanced math? His name was strangely fitting. She had never met anyone who was harder to read. He gave her another interesting look before answering.

"How about we save that story for a rainy day?" He smiled slyly, side-stepping her question.

"You're willing to show me your secret lair, but not tell me about your past. Where's the logic in that?" She tried again.

"Introducing you to these locations is essential to your training. There's no need for me to divulge my personal history. Do you give your backstory to everyone you meet?"

Hermione thought about that for a moment. The only person she ever shared her life with was Harry. He was the only person whom she told how her mother died and that her father had developed a drinking problem over the years. The only thing she ever shared with Ron where a few harmless little anecdotes. And she couldn't blame Tom for not wanting to share. She didn't have her full trust in him either. While she was more willing to do what he told her to, she remained guarded around him.

Again, there was an awkward silence between them. She never knew what to do in these situations, with any person. Normally, she'd just ask a simple question she didn't really care to hear the answer to. Just anything to kill the silence. Though she knew such pleasantries wouldn't work with him. She sighed to herself in relief when she heard buzzing again. It provided some sound and it looked like Tom was more interested in that anyways.

"Well jump in." Tom cocked his head, signaling her to jump in the cart. Hermione looked down at it harder than she had all morning. Now it looked further down. She wasn't sure how to jump down without hurting her legs, while in reality; it wasn't very far down at all.

She let herself slide down; knowing full well she would end up covering her entire backside with dirt. A few pebbles could be heard hitting the metal. Tom soon hopped down next to her and sat down beside her with the heavy remote in his hand.

"You might wanna lie down. That way you don't hit your head on the way to our destination." She slid down until her back was completely touching the metal. Not very gentle to her spine. Tom lied down as well once he pressed the giant green button, and she felt the cart begin to move.

Their sides were touching. She was glad neither of them could see a thing because she was sure she was blushing at the contact. The smell of dirt was very prominent, but she still caught a whiff of ocean breeze soap and menthol cigarettes from him.

"_No, no…let's just stop now."_ She tried to kill her inner fangirl before it became a problem. Well, more of a problem. In the short sight of things, there was no harm in looking, so long as he didn't notice. In the long run, she could end up being his little puppet. She was okay with being his student, but that's where the line needed to be drawn. And it was not to be moved.

The ride to their destination was kind of long. Then again, the cart moved kind of slowly. She closed her eyes, wishing it would hurry up. Relief came over her when light burned over her eyelids. She opened them slowly to avoid hurting her pupils again. It took some time to reset her eyesight and when she could see again, all she saw were many lanterns hanging on the concrete walls. Tom sat up in the cart and Hermione soon did as well.

"Welcome to the Death Eater's storage house." Tom popped his back before climbing out. "Anything that comes in from oversees stops here first before it ends up on the streets."

Hermione looked around before doing so as well. So far, not much to say about the place. When she was standing again, Tom introduced her to a tall man with long greasy hair that rested on his shoulders.

"Nice to see you again, Severus." Tom greeted the man with a nod. "This is my protégé, Hermione Granger. Granger, this is Severus Snape. A brilliant man with a great deal of knowledge in chemistry. When drugs come his way, he stretches it out, quadrupling its value before it's resealed and shipped out. He's potentially the most valuable asset to our team."

She smiled weakly as she reached out to shake Severus' hand. He returned it with a loose handshake as if he didn't want to touch her hand. And there was a dead look in his dark eyes. Figures for somebody whom Tom had admiration for.

"Severus, allow me to show the girl around the house and I'll be back to discuss business." Tom dismissed himself as he led Hermione up the stairs. It seemed only hanging lights illuminated the place.

"We're inside a long abandoned mansion in Little Hangleton." Tom began to explain as they walked. "The locals believe this place to be haunted by the ghosts of the family who was brutally murdered here. And they avoid coming near at all costs. Small town, so they are very superstitious and all that rubbish. Anyways, I boarded up all the windows and entrances to make sure no outsiders ever get in. The only entrance is through the tunnel underground which begins in that old shack a mile away from here. A few windows are left a crack open to avoid visitors from suffocating, but for the most part, we get our light here from a series of hanging lamps I got from a hardware store and they are illegally connected to a transformer down the hill.

"It was by chance that I came across this mansion and thought it would be a great place to expand on some businesses that I previously ran out of Tony's house. As you can imagine, we couldn't do much. All we could do was grow one plant of pot and it took ages to cook one brick of coke. There's so much more room here, which allowed me to produce a hell of a lot more drugs, among some other things. It also provides to be a great place to store stuff. Only so much could be hidden at Burke's. Here, we have a large enough supply of everything to hand out to the nation."

Hermione followed closely behind Tom as he led her around the mansion to show her exactly what stuff he was talking about. It was like a black market emporium. The house was full of many rooms, and it seemed that the Death Eaters had come up with uses for most of them. In one room, they were growing tall trees of marijuana. In another was housed an arsenal of firearms. Many of which, Hermione couldn't believe were there. Tom picked up a 12-gauge shot gun and put it in her hands. It was heavier than she thought and she nearly dropped it.

"Nope. I think we're all better off keeping you on the sidelines and behind a computer. No battle for you." He took it back and hung it back on the wall. "There's still plenty to see. Let's get moving."

He took her to see another room filled with pirated toys, movies, and CD's. The room after that was far less to her liking. She cringed at the sight of a magazine with some girl flashing her over-sized breasts.

"What can I say? Sex sells." Tom shrugged, casually picking up a dirty magazine and then casually tossing it back in the pile with the others. "As you know, pornography is illegal in the country, so naturally, one video with three or four lengthy sex scenes can sell for as high as fifty pounds. So I go onto a few American porno sites which are legal over there, and download a few videos. Really quick cash. In a country where anything fun is illegal, there are plenty of opportunities for a criminal to thrive."

"Fun? You mean if something doesn't involve sex or drugs, it's not fun?" Hermione crossed her arms in disbelief. Her deep down emotions begged that Tom wasn't another filthy letch. He would lose a little more respect from her if he was.

"Not necessarily, but you're still too young to understand how most adults are. We only exploit their lust to make a living. But only a select few of Death Eaters are in charge of the business side of things. Most Death Eaters are only fit to be musclemen."

"And you're one of the select few, aren't you?" Hermione raised a brow, but she didn't ask the question she really wanted the answer to. She wanted to see if Tom would reveal his rank. Only then would she have a better picture of what she got herself into. If he was the boss…

"Yes. And because you're with me, I can get you passed all the grunt work and get you into the officer ranks as soon as you become one of us."

"Wait?! I'm going to become a Death Eater?" Her eyes became wide. To become an official outlaw, she hadn't planned on that. It was one thing to work beside them. A whole other thing to become one of them. Her, a Death Eater? Was that even possible?

"It's only that way that you'll gain my complete trust and the trust of my colleagues. Once you're marked, you're marked for life." Tom stuck out his forearm to show her the tattoo he had there. It was a skull with a twisted snake with a tongue. The first tattoo she saw the day she was hired. "There are many who claim to be Death Eaters, but their words mean nothing unless they have this. But of course you have to earn it. You still have a long way to go."

"But our main goal is to free the country. Getting rid of Grindelwald, right? I don't care about all the money you and your cronies are raking in." She told him, maybe a little too boldly. His posture stiffened. She was sure not many dared to confront him that way. Though, she wanted to make it understood why she was there. She may've let herself go more than she cared for. Sniffing cocaine, what was she thinking? She needed to remember why she went to Tom to begin with and she wasn't going to allow him to warp her ideals.

"That has always been my priority." He smirked, eyeing her as if she was foolish to even question his motives. He found it incredibly disrespectful and would've struck her hard across the face if she were anybody else. As much as he felt it in his hand to hit her, he kept calm and eased the expression on her face. She was still too untrusting. If she saw how bad he got when he got angry, she would most certainly leave. That was not something he wanted.

If he turned on some of the old charm, he could get that scolding look out of her eyes. She may've been too smart for it, but then again, he had gotten her this far. The good girl was on her way to becoming a Death Eater. Maybe in small doses, his charm could still have an effect to keep her on that path. He reached over to brush his long fingers across her cheek. She turned her head away before her cheeks would fire up at the contact.

"Now, now. What have I done to you that makes you so rigid around me? I have shown you things that can get me killed if the Ministry were ever to hear a single word. The ball is in your court, Granger. You have the ability to destroy me if you choose."

Hermione looked at him out of the corner of her eye. His expression was soft and caring. She almost wanted to stroke her hand across his pale face. Almost. He had told her that he was a murderer. Could a murderer ever show this kind of emotion genuinely? While she didn't think it impossible for him to fancy her in any way, she knew it was too early to put her full trust in him.

"You said you've corrupted many policemen around the country. How do I they won't turn a blind eye? In that case, I've exposed myself as a rat, and you can have me killed."

Tom let out a few chuckles before he could answer. Seemed his student did have some real potential.

"Now you're sounding like the conspiracy nut." He smiled. "I'm not too happy it's against me, but I'm glad that you're beginning to see things at different angles."

"That doesn't answer my question, Tom." She snapped, taking a step back as he took a step closer.

"No, it doesn't. Either way, it's not like any answer will change your current opinion of me. But with that in mind, do you really think you should go against me?"

Hermione didn't answer right away. Her life rested in his hands and she practically gave him that power voluntarily. Stupid. The shards of her broken life had further been crushed and she wasn't reacting to all of it as well as she should. She wasn't so upset that she had agreed to follow Tom into the underworld, but more about letting herself get too comfortable around him. But lately, he was the only one she could talk to and he wasn't a bad listener. And he was the only one who had answers to anything and he told her he could help her be a success. Tom could be good for her if she never forgot why she was there to begin with.

She ran her hand over the stray hairs that had broken free from her pony tail. "No, I don't." She exhaled. Why bother pretending she had the upper hand when he knew he had a major advantage.

"Just never cross me and you never have to worry." His voice was stern, with a small consoling undertone. "You're worth more to me alive, and I believe you would be a great asset to the Death Eaters. In the near future, hopefully, you'll be an amazing leader in the new country that we'll build together. For now, relax. Take a load off and I'll take you to breakfast as soon as the nearby café opens for the day. I'll see you in a bit." He soon walked out and left her alone in the room full of porno. His walk was so authoritative that she could imagine crossing him would have dire repercussions.

She then recalled something Harry used to say a lot; _"It sucks to suck." _Something that never really made sense to her, but now that she was gambling with her life with just the promise of a brighter future, she couldn't get the phrase out of her head. Her aggravation grew as she remembered she was in a room full of images of naked people in risqué positions.

She needed some fresh air but she was trapped in the dusty, boarded-up mansion until Tom came back. At least there was plenty of room to walk, though the scenery was nothing impressive. The placed had to have been abandoned for a long time. Everything looked so old and decayed. Paint chips and pieces of the wall lied all over the darkened carpets. The lack of lighting gave the house more of an ancient look. But she could picture in her mind that in its time of glory, the house must've looked magnificent. She thought of the walls with less dirt and grime covering theme into something brighter. It looked beautiful. The house could've looked like something she had seen in films about aristocracy in the nineteenth century. When she looked harder, she could see intricate designs molded into the ceilings.

To think a single family once owned it all. The building where she lived that housed dozens of families, and still the size the mansion was far larger. The rich in Britain were all damn filthy rich and they probably never had to think about money. Well, definitely as much as a mudblood would have to. She couldn't help but think how different her life would've been if she was born into a pureblood family. When she used to date Ron, she could tell some of her stories would throw him off, like he couldn't imagine what life was like in her shoes.

* * *

Several years had passed since Tom had first set foot in the abandoned mansion, and he couldn't help but wonder what kind of man he would've grown up to be if he had lived here. He wondered what his life would've been like if everything had just been given to him instead of wallowing in the mud and scheming to get his way. Now that he was walking alone, his anger well up inside with each passing step. It was a lengthy walk to the kitchens where Severus was at. He hated that house! It stood there, representing the life he never had. The life that was taken away from him.

Instead, his life began at a state-run orphanage. A dreadful and poorly funded place and it easily showed. Why would the Ministry want to care for the parentless children of mudbloods? Whiny and needy kids at every corner. Not enough food to go around and only threadbare clothing to wear. It had become a norm to go to bed cold and hungry there, and it wasn't rare that children died there. During the harshest of nights, Tom wished someone from his family was still alive and would take him away from that place. Many years had passed with bitter disappointment and he had let go of the wish as stupid pipe dream. If he wanted to leave, he would have to get himself out.

Yet he was curious to find out where he came from. He needed a reason why he ended up there to begin with. He knew he was nothing like the others, and he wanted proof. Finding this information was no easy task. Made even harder since all he had to go on was his own name: Tom Marvolo Riddle.

"_Your mother wanted us to name you after your father, and her father."_ Tom remembered Mrs. Cole, the matron of the orphanage, had once told him.

He went through countless newspaper clippings, scanning every single word that would connect him to any other Riddle or somebody named Marvolo. Finally, after years of searching, he found an article on Marvolo, though not a very flattering one.

_5-29-85_

_Morfin Gaunt, son of the late former president of Gaunt Shipping, Marvolo Gaunt, has been indicted for the armed robbery that occurred at Gringotts National Bank and was last seen fleeing the scene with only 200 pounds. Gaunt had shot and killed two bank tellers before escaping and his three accomplices were gunned down by police officers who had arrived at the bank. If you have any news of his whereabouts as soon as possible. An award may be in favor._

Tom had crumpled up the newspaper clipping as soon as he finished reading it and through it across the room. It pissed him off after all his years of hard work had brought him to this. His family went from being one of the wealthiest families in Britain, and quickly descended to living amongst mudbloods. Even below the decent mudbloods. Just the mug shot of Morfin upset him. The man was unshaven and had a lazy eye. This didn't look like the face of someone respectable. The complete opposite, he was. He looked like scum that was better off dead.

It may've been naïve of Tom to believe he would find anything worth learning. Honestly, he didn't know what he wanted to find. Anything that would tell him where he came from, but this…This was unacceptable, and there had to be something else. Anything else.

The very next day, he snuck out of the orphanage early in the morning in a faded black sweater and dingy khaki's and headed to the nearest bus station with the few pound notes he had saved up during the years doing small chores for those around the neighborhood. Destination: Little Hangleton. He went to the last known home of Morfin Gaunt to see if he was still around. Knowing how much time cops usually took to apprehend suspects (assuming they tried at all), he thought the odds may be in his favor. He wound up in front of a shack. An incredible feat that it could still stand. Carefully, he knocked the door. When nobody answered, he pushed it open and let himself in. If nobody was there, maybe he could find some clues. He took out a basic gas station lighter from his pocket to provide light as he walked around, the floorboards creaking under his feet. When his foot landed in front of a recliner with a mound of dirt and hair, it jumped up, revealing a squat man.

"The hell are you doin' here?!" The man jumped up, brandishing a knife. His breath was heavy and wreaked of cheap liquor.

"Morfin?" Tom said, backing up to avoid getting stabbed.

"You filthy bastard, the nerve you have coming into my HOME! What more do want from us?!"

"I'm looking for Marvolo." Tom said, saying the first thing that came to mind. Morfin looked insane, and it felt too early to reveal to him that he was his nephew.

"Marvolo? Marvolo died, din he? Had a heart attack when he found out my slut of a sister had eloped with that bastard, Riddle. Ya know… you kinda look like 'im. That's why I pulled my knife on you. Sorry about that. You look too young. Prick is maybe in his mid-thirties now that I think about it." Morfin backed off and started to pace around the small living room, seeming to temporarily lost in nostalgia. "That house just up the hill used to be ours. The Riddles lived in a tiny cottage where they would make candles or some bullshit like that to sell and make their meager living. My sister really fancied their son, Tom. She would always go down to their house to buy candles from him. Her room became full of them. Smelt like a flower's ass every time I walked by. Oooh, but my father warned her. Telling her that he only talked back to her because she had money. But she never listened. The second me and me dad went flew down to Africa for business, the slut married the bastard, taking a huge chunk of our fortune with her.

"But karma's a bitch, I tell you. Riddle soon divorced her, while pregnant mind you, and took every dime that she had taken with her. Although that wasn't enough for him or his family. They came after us, claiming all kinds of crap to get all of our fortune. Now I've never learned why, but the judge who handled the divorce went in favor of Riddle, handing him everything. I barely had enough money to bury my father, and I kicked that whore Merope to the curve. I think she died too with that baby still in her belly. Well it's all for the best, I guess."

Tom had to fight really hard to keep his face from dropping its mask of indifference. They all left him to die. His uncle, his father. His pathetic mother who couldn't stay alive long enough to raise him. And each one of them was scum. They hurt him, they hurt each other, and they didn't deserve to live. His eyes wondered over to small table by the recliner than Morfin had been sitting on. There was some fine white powder right next to a syringe, a lighter, and a spoon.

"All because of that whore, the descendants of the legendary merchant Salazar Slytherin have been reduced to living like mudbloods. She even took my family's locket. God knows where it is now. But at least I still got this." At first it seemed Morfin was flipping him the bird, but Tom then saw he was looking at an ugly black and gold ring. "All I got to remind me that I got good blood."

Morfin sat back down on his recliner, closing his eyes, and acting as if Tom wasn't standing there. Tom went over to the table. He had seen junkies freebase heroin before in the past. He fired up a fat pinch of the stuff on the spoon and drew it into the syringe. Morfin started to fall asleep, oblivious to what was going on right next to him.

"Karma is a bitch, uncle." Tom spoke softly before jamming the needed into Morfin's neck to pushing down on the plunger.

He soon left the house. The night had crept up on him while he was inside the shack with his uncle. As soon as he stepped out, he could see the big mansion that Morfin had mentioned. His birthright, stolen from him even before he left his mother's womb, and by the very own man whom he shared DNA with. While he didn't quite have a plan on what to do once he got there, he knew he wanted to go up there and confront him. He banged on the massive mahogany door, and a frail old lady in a maid's uniform answered. He pushed right by her, looking for the man that looked like him. Everything he walked by in the house infuriated him greater. It was all so ornate, so unnecessary to have. The Riddles had everything they could ever need and more. Not once had they tried to share a single bit of it with him in the fifteen years that he had been alive.

It all began with Tom Riddle Sr. This was all his doing, and Tom was going to give him a piece of his mind once he found him. Instead, he ran into a heavy set old man, very well-dressed.

"What is the meaning of this? I can have the police down here in less the five minutes if you don't explain."

"Where's Tom?!" Tom shouted. His hand had tightly grasped the knife he had in his pocket, which he took from Morfin's before he left.

"You have five seconds to leave here, young man." The fat, old man said. He was really working on his last nerve, and his huge belly was sticking over his waistband like it was asking for something. Tom pulled out the knife and drove it into his stomach. Warm blood poured into his hands. The fat man stood there in shock for a minute or two, trying to fight off the overwhelming pain of the blade tearing into his intestines, but it was a fight he couldn't win. He then collapsed on the floor with the knife still sticking out of him, and it was only then that Tom had realized what he had done. He moved his fingers, the blood feeling foreign in between his fingers. The intensity of the red held his eyes longer than they should. They made him feel something like he had never felt before, like hunger. And he was desperate to satisfy it.

"Father!" Tom Sr. had finally appeared, hearing all the commotion from up in his room. Another older woman in heels and pearls screamed at the sight of the bleeding fat man.

"Thomas!" She cried running over to kneel by him. She shook him, hoping he was still alive. But with the vacant look in his eyes, there was no question that he was dead.

"Who the hell are you and what the hell do want?" Tom Sr. demanded as he pulled a gun from his waistband. When he heard all the noise, he knew it would be unwise to leave his room unarmed.

Tom looked hard into his father's eyes. There was no question that this was the man. Tall, dark hair and eyes, very fair skin, all just like him. The only difference was their clothes. Tom had on secondhand clothes with pants that exposed his ankles, while his father was dressed in a navy blue cashmere sweater and hard-pressed grey slacks.

"Don't tell me you don't see the resemblance, father?" Tom said the last word as ugly as possible. The word held no affectionate meaning to him. Nothing was left other than spite. He raised his blood covered hands to comply for the moment, but the thought of surrendering never crossed his mind. "I am your flesh and blood and yet you left me to die. I guess it is kind of fitting that you would want to finish the job."

"I have no son." Tom Sr. spat. Tom wasn't surprised in the least. Life had roughened up a little bit. He no longer believed this little reunion would be a joyful one. His point was proven with his grandfather's blood still moist on his fingers.

"Of course you do. Merope Gaunt lived just long enough to let me out into the world, although she didn't leave me with much of a life. But look at you dad, you turned out all right. Tell me, just how did you come to such a great fortune?" Tom spat back, knowing that his father had no honorable story. A male gold-digger was what he was. "If you didn't love her, why did you fuck her long enough to conceive me? Why did you have to ruin my life along with hers?"

"Insolent brat." Tom Sr. bared his teeth somewhat and came close enough to his son to put the barrel of the gun to his temple. "All I'll say is that Merope came after me, not the other way around. I saw an opportunity to get money fast, and I took it. I just threw her a few fucks to keep her happy, but I could only pretend for so long. And she wasn't pretty at all. I guess all those years the Gaunt's had been inbreeding, and they had the nerve to call my family disgusting. They were the filthy ones and they got what they deserved. I tried to be merciful with you and advised Merope to get an abortion, but she refused. She said that if I wasn't going to be around, she would raise you alone. If anything, the person you should be angry with is her. She let herself die and left you to raise yourself."

Son of a bitch. He wasn't going to apologize for abandoning him. He felt he didn't even have to. He was despicable. He didn't care for his son and never cared about what became of him. It hurt, but Tom refused to let it show. Rather, his eyes grew darker. Visualizations of blood spilling out of this "man" were already forming in his mind.

"Put down your gun. Why don't you redeem yourself as a man? Fight me." Tom offered with his hands still up, curling his bloody fingers into fists.

"Are you toying with me?" Tom Sr.'s eyebrows came down lower. His dug his gun further into Tom's forehead.

"You win, I'll leave forever. Never bothering you again. You can go back to your life and I'll go back to mine. But if I win, I want you to pay me a million pounds every year until the day you die. I want what's owed to me." Tom coolly said, keeping a straight face, free of emotion.

Tom Sr. thought for a second before dropping his gun on the floor. Tom felt like he caught every millisecond as the gun made its way down. Through his peripherals, he saw his father's fist coming. He ducked. He rolled. The gun had never left his eyes from the moment he dipped under the first punch, and he had it in his hands before he was able to stand back up. In a swift move, he shot his grandmother twice in the chest. She landed atop her husband's corpse. He saw the maid running towards the front door, and shot her once in the back before her hand even touched the knob.

"What are you doing?!" Tom Sr. was clearly panicked. Tom sure had the barrel pointed in between his eyes.

"You seem surprised. You gained your riches through deceit and you expect the person who has suffered the most because of it to honor his word." Tom pulled the trigger once again and hit his father in the stomach, making him fall not far from his parents.

"_Ahhh_! _Please stop!"_ Tom Sr. yelled weakly. He clutched his wound with his blood over-flooding his fingers rapidly. Tom kneeled down beside him, looking down at the bastard with disdain. As Tom Sr. looked up at him, face showing his agonizing pain, Tom felt taken aback even more at their resemblances. It disgusted him to no end that his father had such a weak and pathetic look on his face. He couldn't stand the sight of it any longer.

He took the barrel of the gun and put his fist tightly around it. He raised his arm high, and brought down to butt of the gun right over his father's cheekbone, crushing it on one blow. Tom raised his arm again and again, each blow creating bigger fractures on the elder Tom's face. All the anger that had built up against his parents had erupted out at that moment. He didn't even notice when Tom Sr. stopped breathing. The feeling in his arm was soon lost. It was as if it had a mind of its own. Twenty-three blows to the face. He and his father no longer looked like each other anymore. At some point, he could no longer life his arm and he sat there quietly. There were no other sounds except from his uneven breathing.

Tom took another look at his hands. The blood on them felt heavy as he began to settle down and reflect on what he had just done. He had never killed anybody before tonight. He had hated many people throughout his first fifteen years of life, and wished for many of their deaths, but he never thought about doing the dirty work himself. From the moment he forced Morfin into overdosing on heroine, he felt like he lost himself. Subconsciously, he knew what he wanted to do and he did it. Intense anger had clouded his better judgment, and he had done the most animalistic thing he had ever done up to that point. Though, he almost felt like he had missed it. Brief visions had come to mind, but he felt like he could only see them and that he wasn't the one who had done it. He took another look at the four corpses that continued to bleed on the Persian rug near him. There was no denying he did it. The proof still moist on his hands. A mix between his father's and grandfather's. Mudblood's blood. The same blood that ran through his own veins. It didn't do much for him to know he had pureblood in him too from the Gaunt's. His mother was a fool and Morfin had to have the IQ of a drunken worm living in a bottle of tequila.

He didn't even know what to think anymore. He thought mudbloods were forced to live like slobs for a reason, but he now knew purebloods could be just as self-destructive. His research he would do in the years to come would prove his growing conspiracy theories were true. Purebloods had their own share of problems, just maybe more discreet.

He moved his fingers a little, the blood feeling harder as time passed. He had been sitting on the floor for a while, growing accustomed to breathing in that nasty metallic smell. A lot of time and effort had been put into finding out about his family. In less than a day, he had killed off all of the surviving members. Tom didn't know why at the time, but he found the entire thing funny. How could he feel guilt when they were the ones who left him to die? They thought they were too good for him. His father looked down at him as if he was born a pureblood. It was gratifying to see him beg for his life. A pathetic excuse for a human and Tom was glad he wasn't raised by such an embarrassment.

The orphanage was a terrible place, but it made him hard and cold, and gave him the thirst to do something incredible. He had accomplished so many things already and he wasn't even thirty yet. How many others could teach themselves computer science and electrical engineering while building a criminal empire at the same time? His father and mother would've shielded him from the austerity of reality and kept him from reaching his full potential. He was better off without them. Love was overrated and made people soft. He never understood what moron came up with the notion that it conquered everything.

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**A/N:** Longest chapter I've written so far and I'm proud. I felt Hermione was becoming a bit OOC-ish, so I hope I was able to redeem her a bit in this chapter. Also, in the process of writing this chapter, I'm thinking future chapters may be around this length. There's a lot to explain and I've got to get it all in by the end.

So before you go and see what else is new, let me know what you think. Is this story screwing with your mind yet? Hope to see you all soon! ^_^


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